


San Junipero

by novellanouveau



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (nothing graphic) - Freeform, 80's Music, Alternate Universe, Angst, Body Image, Clothed Sex, Dancing, Falling In Love, First Time, Flirtatious Victor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Frottage, Humor, Insecurity, Jealousy, M/M, Mentions of alcohol, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Party Boy! Victor, Possessive Behaviour, Praise Kink, Romance, Sexual Tension, Victor is lonely, Wingman phichit, virgin Yuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-06 13:48:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8754442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novellanouveau/pseuds/novellanouveau
Summary: College student Yuuri is dragged out for one night of fun, and lonely party boy Viktor hits him like a hurricane.





	1. You Spin Me Round

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by that one very special episode of Black Mirror (minus the sci-fi) If you haven't already, check it out, it's so lovely!
> 
> Shoutout to urtin (ao3) / m45tau (tumblr) for their continuing help!

_I set my sights on you (and no one else will do)_

_And I, I've got to have my way now, baby_

_All I know is that to me_

_You look like you're having fun_

_Open up your loving arms_

_Watch out, here I come_

 

A synthesized beat pulses from the speakers, and the crowd surges around them. Yuuri stumbles backwards and Phichit snatches him by the shirt before he can do himself any damage.

 

He rights himself irritably, fidgeting his glasses up his nose.

“Remind me again why we’re here?”

Phichit flashes a grin. “You hear that attitude? That’s why.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “You know I hate these places. And I _don’t_ have an attitude.”

“You are a pessimist, Yuuri! You’d never try anything new if it weren’t for me.”

“And I’m eternally grateful,” Yuuri retorts.

“You’re lucky to have me,” Phichit says decisively, his shining eyes moving over the dancers. “You know, this place used to be a real party town back in the day.”  
“That explains the theme,” Yuuri mutters. “If I hear any more Kim Wilde, I -”

“You’ll what?” Phichit teases. “Start to have some fun?” He jabs an elbow in his side. “You’re such a disappointment, Yuuri. Didn’t you ever go to a karaoke bar back home?” His eyes widen suddenly: “Wait - did you have a Japanese Phichit?”  
Yuuri shoots him a dubious look. “A what now?”

“You know. A Japanese me! Someone back home who makes you loosen up.” Phichit’s eyes sparkle teasingly.

For a moment, Yuuri thinks of Minako and snorts. “Something like that. Just - never say that again, okay, that is not becoming a Thing.”

“Spoilsport,” Phichit grumbles.

 

A new beat kicks in, and Phichit’s head snaps up.

“I love this song!” He blurts, grabbing Yuuri by the wrist as though something terribly important is happening. “Come on, Yuuri, we have to dance.”

“Oh no,” Yuuri says, “no way.”

Phichit turns imploring eyes on him. “But we _have_ to. We have to or I’ll die.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes, but allows himself to be led further into the crowd.

“I don’t think I can even dance to this,” he mutters, moving awkwardly to the music. The floor is sticky under his feet, and he grimaces.

“Tell that to Michael Jackson,” Phichit retorts.

His moves are ridiculous, but Yuuri can’t help but envy his easy, grinning confidence.

 

Shuffling his feet in time to the music, Yuuri allows his eyes to wander over the crowd, marveling at the sight of so many people moving at once. Between the shifting bodies, he catches a glimpse of silver, his breath catching when the crowd parts to reveal a man.

He’s tall, his pale skin glowing under the lights, and he moves with such grace, confidence evident in every line of his body, that Yuuri can’t look away. His shirt is unbuttoned to his sternum, parting over a toned chest. Yuuri swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. The man looks like he’s been carved from marble.

His head falls back, shaking silver hair from his face and Yuuri is helpless but to watch the skin shift in that long, elegant throat. His arms move over his head, twisting that lean body just _so_ , moving as if under a lover’s touch.

Yuuri doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone look quite so . . . _alive_ before.

The man’s eyes open, meeting his unerringly across the floor and Yuuri abruptly stops breathing.

_Had he known he was watching?_

A languorous smile uncurls on the stranger’s face, still moving to the music, and he winks.

 

Yuuri tears his gaze away, painfully aware of the blush staining his skin.

_Oh, God._

He grits his teeth, and dares a glance back. He can’t tell whether it’s relief or disappointment that spills over inside him, when he sees the man’s turned away, his eyes fallen shut as he moves, the moment forgotten.

Phichit is yowling along to _Billie Jean_ when he grabs his elbow, dragging him close enough to whisper. Phichit’s mouth snaps shut at his manhandling, looking disgruntled.

“Hey,” he wipes his clammy hands on his jeans. “I’m - too hot, okay? I’m gonna go sit down.”

Phichit looks at him a little oddly, taking in the spotty colour in his cheeks.

“Do what you gotta do,” Phichit says. “I’ll come find you in a bit, okay?”

Yuuri nods, already pulling away from the crowd.

 

He doesn’t dare look over his shoulder when he trips free, just the thought of catching his eye again enough to make him squirm. He takes in the sight of the bar, illuminated with flickering tube lights, the vinyl stools and garish pop art decal.

It really is unforgivably tacky.

 _Typical of Phichit_ , he thinks, ducking into a dimly lit booth. The table is sticky under his hands, littered with half-drunk cocktails of various, alarming colours.

Not his scene at _all._

He startles when a figure appears over the table, ready to apologise and scramble out of their way, when he catches sight of silver hair, and freezes.

“May I join you?”

Yuuri gulps, eyes ticking nervously over the stranger’s face. Up close he’s absurdly handsome, pale eyes sparkling with mischief. Not just a trick of the lights, after all, he concedes grimly.

“Uh, sure,” Yuuri chokes out, inching back on the vinyl couch. “I - don’t mind.”

The man smiles, a predatory thing, and then he’s sliding into the booth, too close, one arm draping over the back until his fingers are just shy of Yuuri’s neck.

“Such a gentleman,” he purrs, settling his hand in his chin. Yuuri says nothing, and the man regards him thoughtfully, eyes alight with interest. “I was watching you when you were dancing,” he says, at last. “Do you know that?”

Yuuri flushes guiltily; of course, he caught him staring after all. The man’s eyes linger on the flush as it bleeds down his neck, as though entranced.

“You looked so awkward,” he says, and Yuuri’s hands clench on his knees, letting his hair fall forward to hide his face.

_Like he didn’t know._

“It was like you knew how you wanted to move, and yet something was stopping you.”

Yuuri can only stare.

 

_Who is this guy?_

“Excuse me?” He splutters.

“Why do you dance if you don’t want to?”

“I like dancing,” Yuuri feels compelled to object, without stopping to wonder if it’s true. “As a matter of fact,” he ploughs on, “I’ve danced since I was a child. Formally trained,” he forces out between his teeth.

The man nods, as if he had been expecting as much, and Yuuri grows only more infuriated.

“I wonder then why you look so tense? Why are you so uncertain?”

“Why do you care?” He retorts childishly.

“Ah,” he says softly, as if Yuuri has just revealed some secret. “I see. You are shy.”

Yuuri’s head snaps around to glare at him.

“I’m not shy! I - simply have an aversion to rude strangers is all.”

“We don’t have to be strangers.”

He smiles, and a hand snakes into Yuuri’s lap, tracing faintly over the back of his hand. Yuuri shoves himself to his feet, yanking away from the touch as if burned.

“You know, you really are insufferably rude,” he blurts.

One long-fingered hand wraps around his arm, stopping him gently.

When Yuuri looks back, a retort on his lips, he sees the man’s eyes have softened, looking almost remorseful.

“Wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.” Yuuri watches him guardedly, waits for him to continue. “I find you interesting is all, and I like to get straight to the point.”

Yuuri nervously wets his lips. “The point being?”

Fingers stroke down his bare arm, sweeping goosepimples in their wake.

“I know you like me. I saw you watching. I could feel your desire,” he says softly. Yuuri moves to pull away and his hold tightens. “It was tantalising. I wanted to - taste it.”

Yuuri stares at him, despite his blush, which doesn’t seem to be going anytime soon.

“Not used to admirers, are you?” He asks sarcastically, and is heartened when his voice doesn’t shake.

“Not like you,” the man says. “You seem so - unused to wanting. As if you are afraid of it. You deny yourself. I wish you wouldn’t.”

Yuuri shakes his head, as if to dispel the dreamlike sensation that has fallen over them.

“You don’t even know me,” he says slowly. “I don’t know you.”

The man smiles slowly. “Would you like to?”

Yuuri refuses to answer, but his face gives him away. The hand falls away from his arm, patting the seat appealingly.

“Sit with me. I promise I won’t bite.”

 

Yuuri rolls his eyes, and reluctantly sinks back into the seat. The man settles his chin back into his hand, all intensity gone from his face.

“So,” he croons, “let me get to know you. Will you tell me your name or will you be angry with me for asking?”

“It’s Yuuri,” he scowls.

“ _Yuu_ -ri.” He draws the word out, like a taste to be savoured. “How adorable. You are Japanese?”

Yuuri nods, gaze distrustful.

“My name is Viktor. Now can you guess where I am from?”

Yuuri shrugs.

“I am from Russia, of course! Can’t you tell?” He asks sulkily. “I had thought it would be obvious.”

“I like your accent,” Yuuri admits, and Viktor throws his head back and laughs.

Yuuri stares, alarmed.

_What a psycho._

“You do?” He sweeps his overlong fringe from his eyes, laughter in his voice. “That’s very sweet.”

Yuuri scowls again, silently resolving not to offer him anything else _sweet_. He startles when a delicate finger prods the bridge of his glasses, blinking owlishly. Viktor meets his glare dreamily.

“I like your glasses. Are they real?”

“Of course they’re real,” Yuuri says, feeling put-out. “I mean, I don’t need them all the time, but -”

“But they make you feel more comfortable,” Viktor finishes, a slow, sharklike smile overtaking his face. “You like to hide.”

Yuuri narrows his eyes, feeling abruptly foolish.

“What are you, a pop psychologist?” He grumbles, resisting the urge to fidget self-consciously.

“You are very grumpy,” Viktor says, still smiling benignly. He makes a breathless sound of surprise, brandishing a finger. “I know! It is because I have neglected to buy you a drink. How very rude of me.”

Yuuri starts to protest, but Viktor is slipping from the booth, and Yuuri has no choice but to stumble after him, lest he decide not to come back.

_Isn’t that what you want?_

 

Yuuri brushes the thought aside impatiently, and Viktor smiles at him, taking a proprietary hold of his elbow as he steers him through the crowd. Viktor moves effortlessly, as though the crowd instinctively parts for him, and Yuuri glares into his back, ignoring the prickle of curious eyes that follow in their wake. 

The bartender is all sharp angles: the disdainful tilt of his nose, the cruel set of his mouth, even the defiant bouffant of his shocking black hair. He couldn’t appear more out of place in this dayglo chaos of a nightclub. He regards them with baleful eyes, heavily ringed in kohl, and seems to agree.

“Georgi,” Viktor singsongs, and on his tongue the name sounds far too sweet for this chilly looking man. “You should _smile_. You will scare everyone away!”

‘Georgi’ stares, then his mouth twitches in more of a grimace than a smile. Yuuri fights a shudder.

“Good,” Viktor croons. “That’s - better!”

“What do you want?” He demands, and Yuuri’s eyes widen at the now familiar accent.

“Stolichnaya.” Viktor smiles sweetly, and flourishes two fingers. “Two please.”

“You know, I’m not a big drinker,” Yuuri mutters, and Viktor waves a hand carelessly.

“Oh, don’t worry, you can learn.”

“With Viktor, you’ll need to,” the bartender says, shoving two squat glasses towards them. The dark eyes flicker to Yuuri’s face, drinking in his flicker of surprise.

Viktor gives a musical laugh, dropping a couple of bills on the sticky bar.

“Such a kidder,” he says, shaking his head.

A cold glass is pressed into Yuuri’s hand, and he takes it dumbly, allowing Viktor to steer him back into the crowd.

 

“Oh, Georgi,” Viktor whispers, hot against his ear. “He is such a drama queen.”

Yuuri glances over his shoulder, at the pale figure staring blankly into space.

“Are you sure?”

“Bozhe moi! Give that man a taste of vodka and then you will understand. But, we mustn’t be too cruel to him. He is in mourning, after all.”

Viktor slips back into the booth, and Yuuri follows, squashing down a small, guilty feeling.

“Mourning?”

“Oh, yes. His heart is broken.”

“Oh,” Yuuri repeats dumbly. “You mean he got dumped.”

Viktor arches a delicate brow. “Why, Yuuri, you are so unfeeling. Haven’t you ever been in love?”

Yuuri flushes, startled into embarrassment. “I - I don’t see why that’s important.”

Viktor’s gaze turns sly. “Ah. I will take that as a no, then. One day, Yuuri, you will be bested by love, and then I think you will spare some pity for the poor romantics like Georgi.”

Yuuri scowls at his superior tone, taking an impetuous swig from his glass. His throat burns immediately in protest, and water springs to his eyes. Viktor’s mouth curls with a smirk.

“Not so fast, malysh!” He scolds, and through the haze of tears Yuuri assumes that means _idiot_. “You will hurt yourself if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Yuuri takes off his glasses, and Viktor reaches over, blotting an escaped tear from the corner of his eye. Yuuri’s skin burns under the touch.

“My,” he says, his voice lazy with suggestion, “I wonder if you are always so eager.”

Yuuri splutters, jerking away. Viktor does not appear fazed, lazily drawing back his hand. Yuuri’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he snatches it up gratefully.

“Just a moment,” he says distractedly, shoving his glasses back on his face.

I can see u!!! ;) what is going on yuu?? Scandalous!!!

Yuuri’s head snaps up guiltily, scouring the crowd for Phichit. His eyes narrow when he finds him, sat at the bar. Phichit smirks and affects a little wave. Viktor follows his gaze curiously.

“Is something wrong?”

“Uh, no!” Yuuri blurts, but Viktor is frowning at Phichit.

“That boy at the bar,” he says slowly. “I think maybe he likes you.”  
Yuuri snorts in surprise, and Viktor raises a brow.

“No, that’s - he’s my roommate. He brought me here tonight.”

“Ah,” Viktor says, and his smile returns. He cocks a wave at Phichit, whose eyes widen comically, before he wheels around in his seat. Viktor’s hand falls. “I think he disapproves of me.”  
Yuuri’s phone buzzes insistently in his hand.

Do u know who that is??????

Yuuri looks slowly between Viktor and his phone.

Yeah he introduced himself. His name is Viktor

When he looks up, Viktor is frowning and he guiltily slips his phone back in his pocket.

“Sorry about that,” Yuuri slides his glasses up his nose nervously. “He was just letting me know he might go home soon.”

Viktor watches him for so long Yuuri begins to feel flustered.

Finally, he says, “No more distractions. I think we should dance now.”

Yuuri’s mouth hangs open. “I -”

“You are shy,” Viktor says, a sly smile curling his mouth. “You won’t be with me.”

Yuuri stares for a long moment, warmth pooling in his stomach.

“I - okay.” He says. “Okay.”

Viktor grins, and swiftly knocks back his drink.

“You can’t resist, can you?” Viktor says teasingly, and Yuuri rolls his eyes, allowing himself to be tugged from the booth.

Across the room, he catches Phichit’s eye, who looks at him in bewilderment and raises his hands - a silent _what the fuck_.

 

Yuuri can only shrug in response before they’re swallowed by the crowd. On the heat of the dance floor, Viktor turns to him, the lights playing over his skin like he’s something mystical.

Yuuri swallows as Viktor’s hands find his hips, tugging him forwards until their chests bump.

“You see, there is a proper way to do these things,” he murmurs, breath hot by his ear. “I’ll show you.”

Yuuri fights a shiver, but the look on Viktor’s face as he draws back tells him he saw. Viktor’s hips move against him, his hands gently guiding until Yuuri moves tentatively, falling into his rhythm. Yuuri stares at Viktor’s chest against his own, frowning in concentration, until Viktor’s hand touches his cheek, tipping his face up to meet his curious gaze.

“Look at me,” he says. “Don’t think so hard.”

His hand slips over the curve of Yuuri’s neck, and tugs until their foreheads meet, holding him there.

“Don’t you want to be close to me?” He murmurs, his breath fanning hot over Yuuri’s face.

Yuuri screws his eyes shut, anything to escape that pale gaze that strips him apart. He jerks his head in a nod.

“Then touch me.” His voice is almost a purr. “I want you to." 

With his eyes shut, Yuuri becomes overwhelmingly aware of Viktor’s touch: the heat of his skin, the smell of him, something masculine and undoubtedly expensive. He can feel the hard lines of Viktor’s body against him, tantalisingly close, the spread of his fingers at Yuuri’s hip, his thumb teasing at the short hairs on Yuuri’s nape.

Exhaling shakily, Yuuri lifts his hands, placing them tentatively on Viktor’s back. The heat of him through his shirt is almost overwhelming, so real and so alive under his touch. Viktor draws back with a grin, his lips brushing his cheek. His voice is a pleased rumble against his ear, and even though Yuuri can’t understand, it has him quivering all the same.

 

The next song is faster, and Yuuri is sorry when Viktor pulls away, his eyes bright.

“This song is so much fun,” he gushes, unexpectedly childish, and Yuuri suddenly feels exposed without Viktor’s body to follow.

“I don’t know,” he pulls a face. “It’s so cheesy.”

Viktor grins, leans close enough to say: “That’s what’s fun!”

Viktor rakes his hair away from his face, his body pulsing in time to the music. Like before, he catches Yuuri’s stare, but this time, his eyes full of mischief, he grabs Yuuri’s hand, jerking him into a clumsy twirl. Yuuri stumbles hard against his chest, and before he can feel embarrassed, Viktor is twirling him again, pressing his chest to Yuuri’s back.

“Loosen up, Yuuri. Dance with me.”

Viktor’s arm is tight across his body, holding them close. He rolls his hips, and Yuuri’s body moves with him, instinctively following where Viktor leads.

“Yes,” he hisses, and Yuuri breathlessly looks back into eyes that aren’t soft any longer. He reaches back, taking hold of Viktor’s hip, surprisingly slender, and is rewarded with another tantalising roll of his body.

Viktor’s hand splays warm on his belly, possessive, and Yuuri presses helplessly into every motion. He feels fire in his belly, under Viktor’s touch, the sensation spreading through him until he moves with a wantonness he doesn’t recognise. He’s going to get hard, he realises, his cheeks burning with shame. He’s going to get hard in his pants like a teenager, here in this sticky nightclub. His body stills, and Viktor snaps his hips forwards in protest, a sound almost like a growl on his lips. Yuuri’s breath catches when he feels a distinct hardness against him.

 _Viktor is hard_ , he realises with a start. _Because of him._

“Are you having fun, yet?” Viktor asks, and Yuuri can hear his smirk. His fingers skim teasingly over his belt, catching the strip of skin under his t-shirt. The touch so soft it’s barely there, but it makes Yuuri’s hand clench around Viktor’s hip with wanting. Viktor’s breath is hot against his skin, and Yuuri shudders when he feels lips take hold of his earlobe, biting playfully.

_Viktor knows. Of course, Viktor knows, the teasing bastard._

His tongue traces the shell of his ear, and Yuuri’s head falls against his shoulder. Viktor seizes the invitation, and drags his lips over his jaw, then down his neck, pausing to flick his tongue teasingly over the frantic pulse. Summoning his courage, Yuuri turns against Viktor’s chest, catching the flicker of surprise in his pale eyes as he draws back. Yuuri takes hold of Viktor’s shirt, tips his face up, and waits.

 

He doesn’t have to wait long. Viktor’s hand slides greedily into his hair, cradling the back of his head to angle their mouths just so. Viktor’s mouth moves lazily over his own, the touch unexpectedly tender, overwhelmingly sensual. His tongue swipes hot over his bottom lip, and when he pulls away, Yuuri feels sure that Viktor’s kiss will be branded there.

Viktor’s eyes are dark with intent.

“I’d like to take you home with me.” His voice is rough, deeper than Yuuri remembers, all playfulness gone.

Yuuri swallows. He wants to. Of course, he wants to, but -

“Yes,” he blurts, before sense can return. “Take me home.”

Viktor’s eyes flash, and then his hand is around Yuuri’s wrist and he is pulled insistently from the crowd.

 

The outside air feels shocking against Yuuri’s feverish skin, the dreamlike quality of the club dissipating around him. Outside, the music sounds tinny from inside the club, as though the noise and chaos of the dance floor have fallen away, leaving Yuuri and the stranger alone together. He stares up at Viktor, seeing him anew in the moonlight. Viktor’s skin shines like gossamer, his face naked with need. Still just a man, Yuuri realises. A terrifyingly beautiful man.

“I have a place upstairs,” Viktor says, stepping closer. “It can get a little loud.”

Yuuri frowns, but says nothing.

_What an eccentric place to live._

Viktor leans down, until their mouths are a breath apart.

“You can be as noisy as you like,” he murmurs and his words grip Yuuri with a sudden sense of urgency.

“What are you waiting for?” He asks, staring up at him with a confidence he doesn’t feel.

Viktor breathes in sharply, and then he’s vaulting up a metal staircase, his long legs taking the steps two at a time. Yuuri follows, hands shoved in his pockets to still their trembling, his moment of brazen confidence abandoning him.

 

As soon as they’re inside, Viktor’s hands are in his hair, under his shirt, and Yuuri’s back hits the door with a _thump._

“Come with me,” Viktor pulls back long enough to whisper, and then Yuuri’s stumbling into Viktor’s bedroom.

“You have a - uh - a really nice apartment.”

Viktor makes a soft sound of amusement from behind him, and then the room is bathed in warm lamplight. Yuuri cringes, suddenly unwilling to be seen in this treacherously gentle light. It’s almost - romantic. All thoughts of romance are cast from his mind when Viktor turns to him.

“Oh no.” Viktor advances, taking Yuuri’s face in his hands. “Don’t you be shy with me.”

Viktor’s kiss is rougher now, his mouth pleading and Yuuri is overwhelmed by the reality of it, the sheer eroticism of Viktor’s mouth moving hungrily over his own, begging for a response.

A hand slips under his t-shirt, flush against the skin of his back, fingers just under his waistband, teasing over the swell of his ass. Yuuri shivers, his forehead falling onto Viktor’s shoulder, arching his back into the touch. Viktor cuts a grin against his cheek.

“So eager,” he teases.

Viktor’s hand trails over his belt, torturously slow, and then Yuuri hears the unmistakable sound of his belt unbuckling, his breath catching in his throat. And then his hand is slipping into his jeans, palming him through his boxers. Yuuri bucks helplessly into his touch, trying desperately to restrain a whimper when those teasing fingers squeeze around him.

“ _Malysh_.” Viktor’s mouth is hot and wet against his ear, his voice coaxing. “Look how badly you want me. There’s no hiding it now.”

Yuuri feels a trembling under foot, and for a moment thinks his heart is beating so fast he’s shaking with it. All at once, he remembers the music, and strangers moving underneath them as one.

Viktor’s hand is against his chest, and a shove sends Yuuri sprawling breathlessly back on the bed. Scrambling onto his palms, he stares up at Viktor, standing over him with a predatory look. He can only imagine how he must look: jeans yanked open around his hips, his cock pressing urgently against his boxers.

“Take off your clothes. I want to see you.”

Despite his smirking calm, there’s a barely repressed urgency in his voice that has Yuuri hurrying to comply. He kicks off his shoes and fumbles at the waistband of his jeans, shoving them down his legs to crumple on the floor. He yanks his t-shirt over his head, ruffling his hair and setting his glasses askew on his nose. Viktor’s eyes devour the flush spilling down his chest, and Yuuri’s throat bobs nervously.

“ _All_ of you.”

 

Yuuri falters for a moment, feeling clumsy with embarrassment, then toes off his socks, his hands faltering at the waistband of his boxers before impulsively shoving them down. His cock presses needily against his stomach. Viktor’s gaze moves over him like roving hands, the only slip of his perfect composure. Without thinking, Yuuri curls in on himself, and Viktor swiftly leans down, catching his wrists, startling him with the sudden closeness.

“No no no,” he says. “Don’t cover yourself. Let me see you.”

Yuuri shoots him a pointed glare, and Viktor’s eyes shine with amusement.

“Ah, I see. You feel lonely.” A dangerous smile flirting at his mouth, he delicately plucks Yuuri’s glasses from his nose. “Can you see me?”

Yuuri nods, thinking he could close his eyes and still see Viktor’s pale, smirking face, burned inside his eyelids. How could he ever forget?

Viktor’s mouth moves over his, mumbling words he can’t understand. A firm thigh presses between his legs, grinding down against his cock, the chafe of fabric maddening, too much and not enough all at once. He can only imagine how they must look, Yuuri splayed against the sheets, exposed and needy, and Viktor baring down over him, Yuuri’s hands clutching at his shirt.

“Viktor,” Yuuri slips their mouths apart long enough to moan, tugging impatiently at Viktor’s collar.

 

Viktor draws back, looking distinctly breathless as his hands go to the buttons of his shirt. Even rumpled from Yuuri’s greedy hands, he still wears it like a supermodel. Yuuri swallows: he looks . . . gorgeously debauched.

Yuuri’s eyes track the motion of Viktor’s fingers down his chest, slowly revealing a toned stomach, before finally shrugging out of the shirt, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. Viktor’s bare shoulders are surprisingly broad, his chest delicately muscled. Viktor holds himself like a man who knows exactly how he’s seen. Yuuri thinks of marble statues, and wonders if Viktor will be cold to the touch.

Viktor’s bare feet are undeservedly delicate, lily white against the chilly wooden floor. For a hysterical moment, Yuuri almost resents him. Then Viktor’s hands are at his belt, and all thoughts are swept from Yuuri’s mind. Viktor’s legs are obscenely long, his cock flushed rosy against a hip carved like granite.

Viktor climbs onto the bed, all long white limbs, thrumming with hidden strength. He braces a hand either side of Yuuri’s head, pressing him back against the covers. Yuuri can feel the heat off his skin, can practically sense the hard cock pressing against his thigh, but still Viktor doesn’t touch.

“How badly do you want me, detka?” He asks softly.

Yuuri makes a choked sound, a protest rising in his throat.

“Of course, I want you,” he snaps, a tremor in his voice. “Look at me!”

“I am,” Viktor says, and then a hand is snaking between his legs, taking hold of his aching cock. Yuuri cries out in surprise, back arching into the touch. “I wonder, has anyone ever touched you like this.”

Yuuri turns his face into the covers, a silent admission, and Viktor’s hand strokes down his length, almost a reward.

“I think I’d like to make you beg,” he drawls, and Yuuri glares, his face burning.

“I don’t do that.”

“We’ll see,” Viktor smirks, before his mouth on Yuuri’s once more, his kiss swift and devouring.

 

Too soon, he tears away, leaving Yuuri gasping, trailing sticky kisses down the length of his neck. He draws his elegant nose down Yuuri’s chest.

“Such a pretty boy,” he croons and Yuuri cries out needily.

Viktor drags a thumb around his nipple, hardening under the attention. His mouth follows, laving the over-sensitive flesh with his tongue, drawing it into his mouth like something sweet, a taste he can’t get enough of. Yuuri releases a keening noise, his head flung back, the sensation of Viktor’s mouth, working keenly at his chest, spreading through him like wildfire. His hands squirm for purchase in the sheets, anything to try and ground himself.

Viktor pulls away, lips shiny wet, and rakes his nails down Yuuri’s side, trailing over the delicate ribs, the plush skin of his middle.

“So soft,” he mumbles against his stomach, his voice a needy sound. “So good for me.”

His lips drag down Yuuri’s navel, breath teasing at the fine, dark hairs. When he reaches his groin, Yuuri’s whole body thrums with nervous anticipation, but Viktor doesn’t stop. Large hands are pushing his thighs open, roving greedily over the tender skin. His mouth follows, biting kisses in their wake until it’s all Yuuri can do not to fuck his hand.

“Viktor,” he pants. “Please.”

Viktor looks up lazily, his eyes dark.

“Please? Please what, malysh?”

Yuuri’s throat bobs desperately.

“Please touch me,” he chokes out.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Viktor smirks.

Viktor presses Yuuri’s thighs even wider, and licks a stripe up his cock. Yuuri chokes. Viktor’s mouth is insistent, taking his length in one fluid motion, pulling him into the obscene heat of his mouth, and Yuuri’s never felt anything quite like this before.

 

His fingers find soft hair, and when Yuuri looks up, the sight of Viktor’s face in his lap, lips stretched tight around his dick is so hot he thinks he could come with only looking. As if reading his mind, the pale eyes open, fixing him in place, and one long-fingered hand wraps tight around his cock, holding him there, suspending him in pleasure. Yuuri’s head drops back with a sob and Viktor hums a pleased sound, curling his tongue around him.

With his eyes squeezed shut, he becomes overwhelmingly aware of himself, the breathless, needy noises escaping him. He’d be embarrassed, knows he surely will be, but right now he can’t bring himself to care. Not here, in Viktor’s bed, Viktor’s mouth around him, his tongue on Yuuri’s skin, tasting him -

Yuuri’s orgasm takes him by surprise. He arches off the bed with a cut-off shout, Viktor’s hand clenching around his hip, fingers biting into the skin of his ass, holding him in place. He doesn’t pull away until Yuuri collapses back against the sheets, his hand in Viktor’s hair, gently pushing. When Viktor looks up, his mouth is shiny and pink, eyes devouring as they take in the sight of him.

 

Viktor drapes himself beside him with the lazy elegance of a cat, utterly shameless in his nudity. Catching his breath, Yuuri’s eyes trail the length of him. Viktor reaches out an arm.

“Come here,” he says, voice rough, and Yuuri goes, climbing into his lap with a body that feels languorous, like it belongs to somebody else.

Viktor’s cock presses against his belly like a brand and Yuuri shivers, his hands fumbling nervously on Viktor’s shoulders. Viktor smiles, eyes heavy lidded with desire, and brushes Yuuri’s hair behind his ear.

“Are you scared?” He teases.

Yuuri lifts his chin stubbornly, one hand trailing over Viktor’s hard chest, quivering stomach, before finally wrapping around his cock. Viktor’s eyes widen, and Yuuri feels emboldened.

“Of you?” He raises a brow, and squeezes. “Of _this_?”

Viktor smirks, his hands taking hold of Yuuri’s hips, holding him in his lap. Infuriated, Yuuri imagines he swipes his thumb over the leaking tip, gratified when Viktor’s nostrils flare.

_How dare he look so put together._

Yuuri sets a punishing pace, working Viktor’s length until his forearm burns. Viktor’s eyes flutter almost closed, and he stares up at him from under pale lashes, his breath huffing from him. Yuuri can feel him quivering with restraint, and a noise of frustration escapes him. Had it come from anybody else, he’d think it a growl.

“Fuck you,” he hears himself say. “Why won’t you let yourself go for me?”

“Is that what you want?” Viktor pants, his eyes cool, fingers flexing against the curve of Yuuri’s ass. “You want me to let go?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he hisses.

 

Viktor’s hands clench and then Yuuri is flung on his back, Viktor’s weight bearing down on top of him. His eyes flash through silver hair, fallen into his face, and Yuuri gapes, his cock twitching.

“So greedy,” Viktor drawls, driving his hips down against Yuuri. “So demanding.”

Viktor yanks Yuuri’s leg about his waist, his cock full and heavy in the crease of Yuuri’s thigh, dragging over the flushed skin. Yuuri lets out an impatient noise, hands digging into the muscles of Viktor’s back, and he grinds against him, fucking against Yuuri’s stomach.

Yuuri stares up at him, watching him come undone. A flush travels over his cheekbones, his mouth fallen open in pleasure and Yuuri arches against him, his thigh burning in Viktor’s vice like grip. His hands trip over Viktor’s back, lower and lower until they move greedily over his ass, jarringly soft in this body of hard, powerful lines. Yuuri’s fingers squeeze, goading Viktor to move harder, faster against him.

Finally, Viktor’s moves grow erratic, and then his cock is pulsing against Yuuri’s stomach. For a long moment, Viktor is frozen, face caught in pleasure, muscles quivering with release. Yuuri stares, some small, mad part of him hoping he never forgets this man, or this moment. With a groan, he collapses on top of him, huffing breathlessly against Yuuri’s chest.

Yuuri remains perfectly still, forgotten uncertainty stealing over him. Dimly, he’s aware of Viktor moving, the loss of his warmth as he traipses naked into the bathroom. He returns, clucking something in Russian as he drops a cloth on Yuuri’s chest. His cheeks burning, Yuuri stirs, mopping self-consciously at the mess on his stomach.

 

Beside him, Viktor is slipping under the covers, eyes lidded like he can barely keep them open. He feels Viktor’s gaze on the side of his face, ignores it, wondering what on Earth he does now.

“You can stay,” Viktor says, his voice muffled by the covers.

Yuuri turns in surprise, catching Viktor’s careful gaze.

“It’s late,” he says dismissively, his eyes slipping shut.

Yuuri nods, his heart resuming its sickly thumping in his chest. Moving stiffly, he fumbles under the covers, careful not to brush against Viktor, the delicious heat of him. He can already hear Viktor’s quiet breaths, slipping out of consciousness, and screws his eyes shut, hoping sleep will find him in this stranger’s bed.

 

The muffled bassline beats in the dark.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's interested, this is the music I was imagining:
> 
> Phichit and Yuuri dance to _Billie Jean_
> 
> Yuuri and Viktor dance to _All Out of Love_  
>  and then _You Spin Me Round_
> 
> If you can't tell, I love 80's music! So cheesy!
> 
>  
> 
> Find me on [tumblr!](http://regulargumball.tumblr.com/)


	2. Like a Virgin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a week of trying to forget, Yuuri goes in search of Viktor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the positive feedback so far! I'm going to try and keep this updated as regularly as I can. 
> 
> I know exactly where this story's going, but if there's anything you'd like to see along the way drop me a message on [tumblr!](http://regulargumball.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you! ❤︎

_Gonna give you all my love, boy_

_My fear is fading fast_

_Been saving it all for you_

_Cause only love can last_

 

Yuuri wakes gradually to light filtering through the curtains. He stretches lazily, silken sheets slipping over his skin.

Yuuri freezes, blinking fully awake against the pillow, and trails a hand over sheets that are distinctly _not_ his. He fumbles for his glasses on the nightstand, and shoves them on his nose, blinking in the pale light of late morning.

Illuminated by one large window, the room appears barely lived in, as though its occupant had only just moved in. No pictures, no books lying around, just dust motes swirling. Yuuri swallows, pushing himself up on his palms, and wonders just what he’s gotten himself into.

He goes to throw back the covers and realises with a start that he’s naked, his bare skin goosepimpling in the sudden chill. Looking frantically about him, his eyes fall on his shirt, crumpled on the floor and his cheeks fill with colour.

_Viktor._

It all comes back to him in rush: the sight of him, dancing alone in the crowd, his teasing touch in the dark booth and their bodies moving together on the dance floor, then -

Yuuri shakes his head, casting all memories of last night into the corners of his mind. He can’t think of them now, alone in this - this _stranger’s_ bed. The images are too bright, overexposed and so - revealing.

 

Yuuri darts out of bed, scrambling for his jeans and sighs in relief when his fingers close around his phone. He winces: 12 messages from Phichit, and feels guilt churning in his stomach.

_This was so unlike him. He’d never done anything like this before - nothing. Phichit must have been going mad with worry._

The last text was sent just past two am.

If ur dead im using that photo with the hot sauce for ur obituary. Consider it ur punishment

Yuuri’s mouth ticks with reluctant amusement. It’s gone eleven now, and he hastily types out an apology.

Im so sorry phichit. Didnt mean to make you worry. I owe you one

Phichit’s reply is almost immediate.

Good night?????? ;) ;)

Yuuri rolls his eyes.

Im coming home now ok. You in? Ill get coffee

I like my coffee with gossip!!

 

Yuuri tosses his phone on the bed, not bothering to dignify that with a response. Phichit obviously knows exactly what happened. Doubtless, he’ll be harking on about this for weeks, declaring himself the ultimate wingman.

Yuuri shivers, and feels suddenly foolish, belatedly remembering his nudity. Pulling a face, he tugs on yesterday’s boxers and trips into his jeans. He needs a shower, he thinks, catching sight of his messy hair in the mirror. The sight of himself, half-dressed and sleep-rumpled, framed by the delicate silver mirror, is absurd. Such a mirror, so delicately wrought, was made for people like Viktor, he thinks. Not Yuuri, wild eyed and cringing, his chest blotchy with embarrassment. Yuuri turns away, shrugging into his crumpled t-shirt.

He has to fish under the bed for his shoe, and grits his teeth, wondering what else this day could possibly have in store for him to make him feel more ridiculous.

Unsurprisingly, the apartment is deserted, and as minimal as the bedroom. Yuuri wonders absently what kind of life this man must lead, to have so little in his home. Yuuri doesn’t let his eyes linger; it’s too - intimate.

The door locks behind him with a sense of finality. In the brisk daylight, San Junipero looks as if it belongs to some other world, so far removed from the pulsing, flashing place where Viktor first kissed him.

 

Yuuri sets a brisk pace, hands shoved in his pockets, and doesn’t let himself look back.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri shoulders open their door, fumbling with his keys, Apology Coffee tucked precariously under his arm. Phichit slides out of his room on socked feet, grinning with such boundless energy that Yuuri is put in mind of a labrador.

“I got you coffee,” he says, and proffers the cup appealingly.

“Never mind that,” Phichit says, even as he snatches it out of his hand.

Yuuri rolls his eyes, letting Phichit shove him towards the couch. He sinks gratefully onto the cushions, and tugs a hand through his hair. Phichit settles himself on the arm, hands wrapped around the paper cup, and stares down at him with sparkling eyes.

“Soooo?”

Yuuri winces.

“About last night, I’m so sorry - I know that’s not like me, and even if it was it was rude just to -”

Phichit flaps a hand, cutting him off.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, I’ve already forgotten about it. Besides, I figured you were alright.” He grins mischievously over his cup and Yuuri flushes. “Viktor, huh?”

Yuuri opens his mouth to speak, grapples hopelessly for something to say, and lets it fall shut.

“You know he’s something of a legend around here,” Phichit says slyly.

Yuuri frowns. “Around . . . where?”

“You know, the party scene,” Phichit says flippantly.

“Right,” Yuuri says dubiously. “Because we live in such a party town.”

“We do now,” Phichit protests. “Not that a hermit like you would know, but the scene was dead until San Junipero popped up. And Viktor’s like a celebrity there.”

 

Yuuri says nothing, thinking of Viktor as he’d first seen him, moving under the lights. He can see why.

“Total flirt,” Phichit adds, darting mischievous eyes towards him.

“I noticed,” Yuuri grinds out. “He was pretty - forward.”

Phichit splutters with laughter and eagerly edges forwards on his perch.

“I bet,” he says gleefully. “I’ve heard the rumours, you know. Like something out of a movie, the way he whirls in and snatches up the boy that takes his fancy that night. And he chose you! My little Yuuri!”

Phichit’s eyes dance and he reaches out to ruffle Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri swats him away irritably.

“So! What was it like?”

Yuuri opens his mouth to protest and Phichit rolls his eyes.

“Fine, no details. Just - give me an adjective, okay. Give me something.”

“It was - nice,” Yuuri fumbles.

Phichit stares at him, one dark brow ticking up in disapproval.

“Nice.” He repeats flatly.

Yuuri sheepishly chafes a hand over the back of his neck, determinedly _not_ thinking about the flush on Viktor’s cheekbones, the dark flash in his eyes when Yuuri had let himself go under his hands.

“It was great. I - liked him.”

 

Phichit’s hand freezes, coffee raised halfway to his mouth. For the first time, he looks apprehensive.

“Listen, Yuuri, you’ll be careful won’t you? I know I tease,” he laughs nervously, “but don’t do anything silly, okay.”

Yuuri frowns. “Silly like what? I already slept with the guy.”

Phichit looks like he’s fumbling for the right words, and Yuuri doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so tentative.

“Just - don’t get attached. I mean, sure, he’s fun and everything, but he’s,” his mouth twists guiltily, “kind of an asshole.”

Yuuri bites his lip, letting this sink in.  
“Right,” he says, at length. “No, I mean - yeah, I figured.”

Phichit shoots him a nervous grin, clutching his coffee to his chest, and Yuuri feels a rush of affection. He musters a lazy smirk.

“You know, now that I’m such an expert, maybe I can give you some pointers.”

 

Phichit rolls his eyes, making a despairing noise, and Yuuri grins.

“I should have known this would go to your head. I may never take you out again,” he warns.

Yuuri sees a familiar gleam in his eyes and groans, already knowing what he’s thinking.

“Hey,” Phichit beams, “I just realised - I am a fantastic wingman!”

“No,” Yuuri groans, covering his face. “You do _not_ get credit for this.”

But Phichit’s tapping his chin, looking thoughtful.

“Do you think I could expand my practise across college?”

“Oh my God, do anything, as long as you make some more freaking friends.”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s two nights later when Yuuri dreams of him.

Still fully clothed, he’d fallen into bed when a glance at his watch told him it was well past two am. Yuuri had groaned, rubbing his tired eyes. He so easily lost track of time when he was studying. He stretched his stiff back and dropped his glasses on the desk, rising with creaking limbs.

He’d collapsed on top of the sheets, and quickly fallen asleep.

 

He dreams of Viktor. Pale hands spreading his legs, and a taunting mouth that devours him whole. Yuuri glances down his own naked body, flushing in shame at the sight of his soft belly, quivering with need, cock fat and hard, begging for attention. And Viktor - looming over him, his face glowing in the dark. His hands grasp at the sheets, not silk, but familiar fleece, soft with age. His own bed. 

The realisation makes his cheeks burn.

Viktor can’t be here, not in his poky little room, not in his single bed with the mattress that squeaks. Dream Viktor leans down, mouth brushing against his ear, and murmurs something. Something dreadfully important, he’s certain, but he’s helpless to understand.

Yuuri wakes with a start.

His ragged breathing feels too big, too loud in the dark. His skin prickles with sweat, his dick throbbing needily in his jeans. Yuuri pushes himself up, dragging his shirt and sweater over his head. His flushed skin shivers gratefully in the cold air.

Yuuri settles back against the pillows, his hand faltering at the waist of his jeans. In the days that had passed, he’d forced all thoughts of Viktor to the back of his mind, not daring to dwell on that night. But now -

His thumb plays over the button of his jeans, and the image reminds him painfully of Viktor, his teasing fingers on his own trousers, torturing him with anticipation.

Yuuri flicks the button free, shoving his jeans and boxers around his hips.

He hisses a breath in relief, the sudden chill against his overheated flesh painful and tantalising all at once.

Screwing his eyes shut, he wraps a hand around his cock, and lets himself remember. Viktor fills his senses, the smell of him, the weight of him, the heat of his skin. Yuuri’s arm jerks faster, thinking of his fingers wrapped around Viktor’s cock, of heavy lidded eyes and quivering restraint. He remembers himself demanding Viktor let himself go and stifles a whine against his pillow, hips snapping up into his hand.

He thinks of Viktor’s face as he came, lost to pleasure, hands biting, holding him close -

Yuuri comes with a grunt, spilling over his hand.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s ruined after that.

Every night he curls on his side, eyes squeezed shut, and thoughts of Viktor banished. Every night the dream comes, Viktor’s pale face staring down at him, whispering words he can’t understand. Every night he comes on his stomach and hides shamefaced under his covers.

 _Fuck Viktor_ , he thinks. _And fuck him for obsessing._

By Saturday, he’s grimly resolved.

 

“You going out?”

Phichit frowns from the couch, and glances at his watch.

Yuuri falters in the doorway, turning a lie over in his head.

“Yeah, library,” he says and Phichit pulls a face. “I - just realised I don’t have a book I need -”

“Lame,” Phichit interrupts, turning back to the television. “Use the internet like a normal person.”

Yuuri forces a smile, guilt already climbing inside his chest.

“Be home before midnight, young man.”

Phichit waves a teasing finger and the feeling constricts in Yuuri’s chest.

 

* * *

 

 

San Junipero is alive once more, pulsing with barely suppressible energy.

Yuuri takes a deep breath, his hands flexing at his sides.

 _He’s not expecting anything_ , he tells himself. _He just wants to see him._

Stumbling up the road, a couple of cackling girls shoot him an odd look before bursting into renewed laughter. Yuuri squares his shoulders and follows them inside.

His eyes trip over the dancers, searching for a flash of pale skin or a glimpse of silver hair. He finds nothing. Wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans, Yuuri pushes through the fringes of the crowd, looking nervously about him.

 

Georgi is slouched behind the bar, disdainful as ever, and Yuuri releases a breath of relief. Georgi ignores him as he approaches, feigning great interest in a bottle of dark rum. Yuuri clears his throat, and Georgi spares him a dismissive glance.

 _Progress_ , he thinks.

“Georgi, right?” Yuuri swallows. “We met last week. Sort of.” Georgi stares at him blankly and Yuuri hurries on. “I was with Viktor.” Georgi does not look surprised and Yuuri wonders if he’s simply pretending not to recognise him for the sake of petulance. “I was wondering - do you know where he is?”

Georgi huffs a breath through his proud looking nose, and shakes his head ever so slightly. It’s the most expressive Yuuri’s seen him so far.

“Good luck,” he says, and swiftly turns, disappearing down the other end of the bar.

Yuuri watches him go, his mouth hanging slightly ajar.

 

 _Admittedly, Georgi isn’t the most reliable person_ , he thinks, watching Georgi do a terrible job of appearing busy.

 

Frustrated, Yuuri turns away and meets amused looking eyes.

“Did I hear correctly?” The man asks, American, Yuuri thinks. “You’re looking for Viktor?”  
Yuuri frowns and jerks a nod.

The man smirks, his eyes sweeping down the length of him. Yuuri’s fingers curl into his palm, growing irritated under that superior gaze.

“Well?” He demands, fighting a wave of self-consciousness.

The man shrugs.

“Just curious. Didn’t know Viktor was into pity fucks.”

Yuuri’s mouth falls open in shock, and he can feel his skin burning.

“I -” He breaks off, and ducks his head, as if to hide his shameful blush.

The man takes a swig of beer, watching him blandly.

“Don’t take it personal, kid. Just saying.”

Yuuri’s head snaps up and he glares, his body trembling with outrage.

He wants to throw his words back at him, but his throat feels like it’s closing. The club is too loud suddenly, too hot, and Yuuri stumbles into the crowd, disappointment rising in his stomach like nausea.

 

Outside, he stops short. He feels like he wants to run, to throw something, to shout. But he doesn’t. He listens to the sound of his own ragged breathing, and blinks away angry tears.

 _It’s fine_ , he tells himself. _It’s fine. You were just curious._

_It - it didn’t matter that much anyway._

He doesn’t stop to wonder if he believes it.

Slowly, his breathing returns to normal, and he shoves a hand under his glasses, angrily rubbing his eyes.

 

Above him Viktor’s apartment looms, windows staring darkly into the night.

He doesn’t look back.


	3. Heart of Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri and Viktor cross paths again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoooo boy!  
> okay episode 10 had me thinking about this fic in a whole new light! goddammit yuuri!! i knew you had it in you!!
> 
> Feels a little crass posting this after such a wholesome episode but there is plenty of good stuff to come :)

_Lost inside_

_Adorable illusion and I cannot hide_

_I'm the one you're using, please don't push me aside_

_We coulda made it cruising, yeah_

 

Yuuri glances warily over his book.

“What? Why are you smiling like that?”

Before he can react, something soft hits him in the face with a satisfying _thwump_. Yuuri splutters, pulling the offending item away. It’s one of his dress shirts, he realises, holding it up in front of him.

“Get dressed, Yuuri,” Phichit exclaims. “We’re hitting the town!”

Yuuri pulls a face.

“No, we’re not. Besides, I hate this shirt.”

He tosses it back, and buries his nose in his book. Phichit catches the shirt against his chest, and his brown eyes turn beseeching.

“Yuuri, you’ve been so gloomy this week. It would be good to go out . . . I think you’re getting withdrawal symptoms.”

Yuuri scowls, hunkering further down against the couch.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he grumbles, eyes trained unseeingly on the page.

“Admit it! You had fun, and now you want some more!”

 

“I won’t, because it’s not true,” he insists. “I hate fun, you said it yourself.”

Phichit is quiet for a long moment, and Yuuri’s eyes flick over his book again. He looks thoughtful - _never_ a good sign

“Are you worried you’ll see Viktor?” He asks finally.

A nervous quiver takes residence in his belly, but Yuuri raises his chin stubbornly, refusing to let it show.

“Of course not,” he says, and almost believes it.

“Sooo?” Phichit grins, brandishing the shirt. “You’ll come?”

He looks so hopeful, and Yuuri feels guilt squirming: he hasn’t exactly been the best friend lately.

Yuuri rolls his eyes, letting his textbook fall shut.

“Fine, fine. If it’ll shut you up.”

Phichit grins and Yuuri snatches the shirt just before it collides with his glasses.

“I can still change my mind!” He calls after Phichit’s retreating back.

 

Yuuri’s fingers fumble over the buttons of his shirt, tugging it into place. It’s a little tighter around the middle than he remembers, but it’ll have to do. He catches sight of himself in the mirror, and hesitates, gingerly brushing his bangs off his face. His mouth twists thoughtfully and then he runs an experimental hand through his hair, slicking it back against his skull.

Dark hair swept off his face, it throws his soft features into stark relief. He almost looks older, he thinks, turning his head to inspect the line of his jaw. Hardened, he thinks, like a whole new person.

 

Turning to leave, he falters, and tugs off his glasses, setting them resolutely on his desk.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s hotter than he remembers. Yuuri tugs regretfully at the collar of his shirt, already missing the cool night air. Tonight, _Blondie_ blares from the speakers, and Yuuri thinks again of how otherworldly this place feels. It’s like a pocket in time, as if whatever happens inside couldn’t possibly follow him beyond these walls.

 

Instinctively, his eyes skitter around the dance floor, but he sees no one he recognises.

“Isn’t this great?” Phichit beams beside him. “You know, I think this is the beginning of a whole new era in our friendship.”

Yuuri snorts.

“Right. Kind of like a civil war, or a national pandemic.”

Phichit elbows him in the ribs.

“You need a drink. Maybe then you’ll stop being such a buzzkill.”

Yuuri follows with an air of obligation, hoping Phichit doesn’t have anything too wild in store for them.

 

When Georgi sees them, he pinches the bridge of his nose as if warding off a headache, and mutters something under his breath.

“Look, boy,” he says and Yuuri blinks in surprise. “You seem nice enough. You want advice? Don’t waste your time with Viktor. I know him many years so listen when I say he won’t thank you for bothering him.”

Yuuri gapes, colour rushing into his cheeks, last week’s humiliation crashing over him like cold water.

“He’s not why I’m here,” he says between gritted teeth.

He can feel Phichit’s eyes on him, a probing, silent question.

“Oh,” Georgi says, his expression unchanging. “Then can I do something?”

“Your job maybe?” Yuuri mutters under his breath, then, louder: “Isn’t there another bartender?”

“You would think,” Georgi says. “But no. I work my fingers to the bone.”

Yuuri sincerely doubts this. Though he’s only ever seen the club heaving with revellers, he never seems to see Georgi doing - anything.

 

He turns away with a frustrated noise, prickling under Phichit’s stare.

“You came back last week, didn’t you?” Yuuri doesn’t answer and Phichit winces. “Oh, Yuuri.”

_Goddammit_ , he thinks, throwing Georgi a scornful look. _Fine time to get chatty. He hadn’t even known Georgi could speak in full sentences._

 

“Listen, I know, I’m an idiot, okay? I just -”

A flash of silver catches his attention, and he narrows his eyes. Before he can think too carefully he’s pushing himself into the crowd.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” He calls over his shoulder. “I just have to take care of something.”

“Don’t mind me,” Phichit yells after him. “Quality wingman, remember!”

 

Viktor sees him coming, and lights up with a grin.

“Hey - you! You came back. I didn’t -”

Before he can finish, Yuuri grabs hold of his arm, and steers him towards the toilets. It’s mercifully empty inside, the music muffled by the swing doors. Viktor looks around them, face soft with confusion, and Yuuri silently curses him for looking glamorous even under the fluorescent lights of a public toilet.

“Oh, OK,” Viktor’s saying, cocking his head ever so slightly. “You want privacy?”

He goes to move closer but Yuuri thrusts out a hand to stop him.

“Don’t.”

Viktor stops, looking more confused than ever. His lips purse thoughtfully.

“You look angry.”

“No shit!” Yuuri bursts out, and is embarrassed to hear the tremor in his voice, the sound ringing in the empty bathroom.

 

The door swings open, admitting a brief burst of music, and a man staggers in. Yuuri tracks him with a glare, looking away with a stifled groan when he slumps over a urinal. Viktor doesn’t seem to notice, still scrutinising Yuuri as if he could pull his secrets from him with a single look.

_He probably could_ , Yuuri thinks darkly, and stares at him in silence, an embarrassed flush sneaking up his neck.

 

Finally, the man leaves, the door swinging shut behind him and Yuuri exhales a shuddering breath.

“I like this colour on you,” Viktor says thoughtfully, and strokes a finger over his flushed cheek. Yuuri yanks away, flustered.

“Stop that,” he hisses.

“Are you embarrassed?” Viktor asks, and his voice is almost petulant. “Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?”

“Yes,” Yuuri snaps, prickling with the admission. “But mostly I’m just angry.”

“And who has made you angry?” He asks, a tone of commiseration in his voice.

Yuuri scowls.

 

_Is he really so self involved as to be this oblivious?_

 

“You! I’m angry at you!”

“At me?” He recoils a little, one hand fluttering to his chest.

“Of course, at you. Who else?”

“I don’t understand, I -” Abruptly, a shadow falls over his face and Yuuri can’t help but feel that he’s exposed too much. “Ah. I see. Is this about the night we shared?” His voice is too gentle.

“Of course, it is,” Yuuri blurts. “But not just that! I -” He takes a deep breath, fighting to keep his voice even. “You made me feel -” _special_ “- stupid.”

 

Viktor’s face has grown sombre, eyes soft with pity.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I thought I made you feel good . . .” He takes another coaxing step forward. Yuuri holds his ground. “We had fun. But fun is all I am looking for.” He sounds almost disappointed. “I thought you knew that.”

Yuuri stumbles back a step, feeling like he’s been physically hit.

“I knew that,” he blurts. “I mean, I know. I didn’t come here for you, okay? Just tell your friends to lay off. I’m not going to stop coming here just because they treat me like a joke.”

Viktor looks like he’s going to say something, but Yuuri doesn’t give him the chance. He shoves through the doors, half hoping Viktor will follow. He’s even angrier with himself when he doesn’t.

 

The music is almost cathartic, the bass thumping in sympathy with his hammering pulse. Phichit is hovering outside the toilets, a guilty look flashing over him when he meets Yuuri’s eyes.

“Thank God,” he blurts. “I was beginning to look like a pervert. What happened?” He asks anxiously when Yuuri doesn’t answer. “Did you do something stupid? Did you kiss him? Did you _hit_ him?”

Yuuri shakes his head, and leads Phichit deeper into the crowd. The last thing he needs right now is to collide with Viktor.

“Nothing like that,” he says, sounding abruptly tired. “I just - gave him a piece of my mind, is all.”

He doesn’t look at him, afraid his expression will give him away. Phichit punches him on the shoulder, and recovers a slightly nervous looking smile.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he says. “You’re turning into a real heartbreaker, Yuu.”

Yuuri’s chest clenches painfully, but he summons an eye roll. He can deal with his humiliation later, he tells himself.

He’ll lick his wounds in private.

 

* * *

 

 

Two drinks later, Yuuri’s feeling decidedly looser.

 

With his eyes closed, he lets his body move to the music, chasing the sensation of a remembered touch.

Phichit grins at him, shouts giddy in his ear: “Where has this Yuuri been for the last three years?”

Yuuri smirks, buoyed by Phichit’s enthusiasm.

“I know!” Phichit exclaims. “We need shots!”

As soon as Phichit’s squirmed into the crowd, Yuuri realises he’s alone with countless strangers. He lets his eyes fall shut, and focuses on the adrenaline coursing through him.

 

_Not nervous_ , he realises. _He’s excited._

Phichit was right, he thinks, he really has been starved for fun.

 

The next song is faster, and the crowd surges, sending Yuuri colliding painfully with a stranger’s back.  

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, wheeling around.

The man looks down at him and shrugs, before leaning close enough that Yuuri can feel his breath on his skin.

“Ain’t nothing,” he says, his voice rough like gravel. “What’s a dance floor anyway without a bit of bump and grind?”

Yuuri is about to roll his eyes, when he feels a thick arm wind around his back, pulling him flush against the stranger.

“Oh,” he says dumbly. “I’m waiting on my friend.”

“You don’t want a little company while you wait?” He asks, his chest rumbling against him.

“No, thank you.” Yuuri pulls away but the arms hold tight.

“Little discourteous, don’t you think?”

The man leans close enough that Yuuri can smell the beer on his breath. He scowls, shoving hard against his chest.

“Discourteous?” He sneers. “We’re in a nightclub. Now get your hands off me, you sweaty pig.”

 

Something flashes over the man’s face, but then there are hands on Yuuri’s hips, firmly tugging him away.

“Yuu-ri,” purrs an all-too familiar voice, and he shivers despite himself. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”

Yuuri takes a decisive step backwards, Viktor’s arm slung around his waist.

“I got sidetracked,” he says, without looking at him.

“Viktor,” the man says, more of a growl than anything.

“Would you give my friend and I a little privacy?” He asks sweetly, his eyes flashing cold.

The man gives them a final glance, looking put out, then he shoulders brusquely into the crowd.

 

As soon as he’s out of sight, Yuuri pulls free of Viktor’s hold. He’s beginning to feel like a party favour, with so many hands pulling him to and fro.

Beside him, Viktor tuts.

“Do you have a knack for getting into trouble?”

“Not usually.” Yuuri scowls up at him. “So you do know my name.”

Viktor smiles prettily.

“Now you mustn’t hold that against me, Yuuri. I have a simply terrible memory. You can ask anyone.”

Yuuri watches him closely.

“How did you find me?” His eyes narrow. “Were you watching me?”

For a moment, Vitkor looks as if he’s been caught in a lie. But then he gives a graceful shrug of his shoulders.

“Yes, I was watching you. The way you moved tonight,” his eyes are suddenly very intense, and Yuuri inhales sharply, feeling suddenly too hot. “Well, I was intrigued.” He smirks. “Who taught you to move like that?”

“Some asshole,” Yuuri mutters and Viktor laughs.

“You might be angry with me, but I think maybe I have inspired you. Will you dance with me again?” He murmurs, stepping forward until his hair brushes Yuuri’s brow. “For old time’s sake.”

“Because we have such a history, right?”

His voice is snide, but he does nothing to stop Viktor taking hold of his hips. The touch is so familiar, and for a moment Yuuri remembers those same hands holding him in his lap.  He quickly shoves that thought aside, labelling it _dangerous_.

 

“One dance,” he grumbles. “For old time’s sake.”

Viktor smiles, and pulls him closer. Yuuri’s hands move as if of their own accord, settling themselves on Viktor’s back.

“You dressed up tonight,” Viktor says, and Yuuri’s face burns. “Was it for me?”

“No,” Yuuri lifts his head to glare. “I told you, I didn’t come here for you.”

“Of course. I believe you, malysh.”

 

Yuuri meets his eyes coldly. One hand slips up the length of Viktor’s back, to the back of Viktor’s skull, where the hair is shorn close and rough under his fingers.

“Look at me, Viktor. Do I look like I came here for you?”

Viktor stares at him, a slow smile at his mouth.

“You look like a man who knows what he wants,” he says.

Yuuri lets out a shuddering breath. His heart is beating frantically under his shirt, and he prays Viktor won’t feel it. They’re scarcely even dancing now, he realises. Just moving together, unthinking, bodies at odds with the combative energy crackling between them.

“Like you know anything about what I want.”

Viktor makes a smug little noise, leaning down until their cheeks almost brush.

“You are so cocky tonight. Have you forgotten so easily how you trembled under my hands? How you begged for your release?” His voice is so gently teasing, Yuuri can’t help but shiver. “I think not. I think you have been playing it over, and over in your mind since I left you.”

Yuuri’s face burns.

“You know, you really are the most arrogant person I’ve ever met,” he seethes.

Viktor cocks his head, a grin playing at his lips.

“Can you blame me?”

 

Yuuri glares up at that hateful, beautiful face. A flash of memory overtakes him: that same smirking face, caught on a moan, clutching Yuuri as he came apart. Yuuri narrows his eyes, feeling suddenly emboldened.

“No,” he says, and tugs Viktor’s hips flush against his own, letting Viktor feel him.

 

Viktor’s eyes are darkening with promise, and something else, a look Yuuri hasn’t seen before.

“I thought you didn’t come here for me,” he breathes.

“I didn’t,” Yuuri juts out his chin, eyes flashing. “But here you are.”

“Here I am.”

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri pulls away from Viktor’s insistent kiss, and with a push sends him sprawling onto the bed.

Viktor smiles lazily up at him, brushing silver hair out of his eyes.  
“You’ve picked up some tricks,” he says slyly.

His eyes are soft, and he reaches forwards, oh so slowly, and taps the bridge of Yuuri’s nose. Yuuri knows what he’s thinking: _his glasses._  

"You look different tonight," he says, voice soft.

Yuuri swallows, refusing to let himself be knocked off kilter by the gentle words.

“Take off your clothes,” he says, the words sticking thick in his throat.

Viktor cocks his head, his smile slow and predatory.

“Won’t you help me?”

 

Yuuri wipes his hands against his jeans, and reaches forwards with trembling fingers to the buttons of Viktor’s shirt. Viktor doesn’t look away, and Yuuri focuses on the skin of his chest, slowly revealed under his fumbling touch. He slides the fabric off one shoulder, then the other, and the fabric falls, forgotten around his wrists. He settles back on his palms, inviting Yuuri to look his fill. Yuuri’s fingers shake, and he curls them against his palms.

Viktor slides his foot along the floor, legs slipping open in teasing invitation. Yuuri’s gaze compulsively drops to his lap, to his straining fly. Viktor’s smirk widens, and Yuuri presses a hand against his chest, over the thumping pulse, and shoves him back against the mattress.

 

Only then, does he sink to his knees. His hands settle on Viktor’s thighs, hard muscle flexing under his touch, and drag to his waist. He fumbles with his belt, knuckles skimming against the skin of Viktor’s navel, fluttering with anticipation. He glances up nervously, but can’t see Viktor’s face, only the slow rise and fall of his chest. His hands lie open against the sheets, palms raised, surrendering himself to Yuuri’s touch.

Overwhelmed by that thought, Yuuri ducks his head and yanks Viktor’s fly open with more force than strictly necessary. Viktor says nothing, only lifts his hips obediently so Yuuri can tug his trousers down around his knees.

Yuuri inhales sharply, splays his hands against the pale thighs and spreads them as far as his trousers will allow. Viktor’s thighs flex and Yuuri fights the urge to dig his fingers into the muscles there.

 

Viktor’s cock strains against his stomach, quivering under the ghosting touch of Yuuri’s mouth. Viktor sucks in a needy breath, his fingers twitching against the sheets and Yuuri grows emboldened. He draws the tip into his mouth, relishing the needy jerk of Viktor’s hips, and curls his tongue around him, as Viktor had done. He closes his eyes, lets the memory of Viktor’s mouth wash over him - the heat of him, the teasing flick of his tongue, the _desire_. The remembered sensation fills him as he slides his mouth down Viktor’s length, taking him as far as he can go before his throat quivers in warning.

 

Above him, Viktor is mumbling something soft, something he can’t make out, but the neediness of his voice is enough. Yuuri’s head moves tentatively in his lap, sucking him as far as he can take and drawing back again. Viktor’s length slips free and he wraps a hand around him, draws him back between shiny, wet lips. Viktor cries out needily, and a hand is in his hair, guiding with trembling fingers. Yuuri moves faster, his tongue working sloppily over Viktor’s length, ignoring the burn of his jaw. A choked breath is his only warning before Viktor comes, spilling over Yuuri’s chin as he pulls away.

 

Yuuri draws back on his heels, wiping at his chin with the back of his hand. Above him, Viktor pushes himself up on his hands and looks down at him dreamily, mouth twitching with amusement at the state of him. He reaches out to take his chin, his thumb swiping the corner of his mouth clean.

Yuuri flushes and doesn’t look away.

“You’re a quick learner,” Viktor says, voice soft with pleasure.

The sight of him, pale, lean body only half bare, trousers around his knees and shirt crumpled about his arms is painfully erotic and Yuuri becomes uncomfortably aware of his cock pressing against his jeans.

Yuuri swallows, and then he’s clambering onto the bed, and into Viktor’s still sticky lap. Viktor looks surprised for the briefest of moments. Yuuri’s hands go to his belt and Viktor reaches for him, arms snagging in his shirt. He makes a low noise of frustration, and pulls himself free, the shirt crumpling to the floor. Viktor brushes Yuuri’s hands away from his belt, taking over, and Yuuri hisses in relief as his jeans are tugged down about his thighs, cock pressing needily into Viktor’s hand.

Viktor’s hand works expertly up his length, and Yuuri’s head falls back on a groan. He’s dimly aware of Viktor pushing his shirt up, his touch moving greedily over the skin of his stomach, then his quivering thighs. Yuuri shudders, and then Viktor’s fingers are between his legs, teasing down his ass. Viktor’s hand moves torturously over his cock until Yuuri is bouncing needily in his lap, chasing his touch. Yuuri’s hand grasps at the curve of Viktor’s neck, fingers curling until his nails bite into the soft skin. He can just make out Viktor’s voice, mumbling filthy sounding things he can’t understand, dark eyes intent on his face. When Yuuri comes, his back bows with pleasure, spilling over Viktor’s chest, before finally crumpling against his shoulder. He catches his breath for a long moment, dimly aware of Viktor’s hand against his hip.

 

Yuuri lifts his head, avoiding Viktor’s eyes and awkwardly tugs his jeans up his hips. His legs tremble when he stands, fumbling with his belt. He can feel Viktor’s eyes on him, unmoving on the bed.

“It’s late,” Viktor says. “You can -”

Yuuri cuts him off, eyes darting nervously to Viktor, then away.

“I can’t. I need to go home.” He tugs his shirt down anxiously. “This was -” He breaks off with a sigh. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

Viktor’s amused eyes follow him out the door.

“Good night, Yuuri.”

 

* * *

 

Phichit. 1:02: whats up slut!!! Saw u with viktor and didnt want to interrupt LOL. i literally cant leave u alone for a minute huh!! Wish whatever u were putting out there would rub off on me ;)

Phichit. 1:03: that was NOT a come on btw

Yuuri. 1:42: sorry to ditch you again p. I dont know what has gotten into me

Phichit. 1:43: i have some ideas ;) ;)

Yuuri. 1:43: shut up. Coming home now okay

Phichit. 1:44: ooh drama. i feel like im in 90210. Cant wait for my character arc. Try not to pick up another stray on the way home!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plenty more to come so please keep me updated on how you're finding it :)
> 
> Find me on [tumblr!](http://regulargumball.tumblr.com/)


	4. Don't You Want Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor makes an awkward overture at friendship. Yuuri is slowly building a task force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had quite a lot of fun writing this! thank you all for your wonderful feedback - nothing beats receiving a comment from one of you!
> 
> As ever, find me on [tumblr!](http://regulargumball.tumblr.com/)

_Don't - don't you want me?_

_You know I can't believe it when I hear that you won't see me_

_Don't - don't you want me?_

_You know I don't believe you when you say that you don't need me_

 

Yuuri wakes groggily, still clinging to a half-remembered dream.

Automatically, he reaches for his glasses, but finds his nightstand empty. He groans, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, rubbing til he sees stars.

 

_Not a dream. Not this time._

 

He wants to roll over, press his cheek against the pillow and let himself drift back to sleep. But the light through his curtains tells him the day is already well underway, and he reluctantly throws back the covers.  
His glasses are on his desk, staring vacantly into the room right where he left them. Yuuri shoves them on his nose, trying not to remember the moment he set them down, head swimming with ridiculous thoughts.

 

When he shambles into the front room, Phichit is in his customary spot, hunched over a controller. He throws him a smirking glance over his shoulder.

“Good night?”

Yuuri mumbles incoherently, collapsing onto the couch. Phichit snorts, turning back to the screen.  
“That’s a _yes_ if I ever heard one.”

Yuuri throws an arm over his face, laid out on the couch like a lovelorn heroine.

“Let’s not talk about it.”

“Riiight. Lets not talk about the most interesting thing that’s happened to us in years.”

Yuuri peels back his arm long enough to glare blearily in his direction.

“Shut up. This is _not_ happening to you.”

“I’ve seen you suck on Viktor’s tongue, Yuu,” he shoots back. “Think before you speak.”

Yuuri gives a heartfelt groan, hiding his flushing face in his hands.

“Hey,” Phichit’s voice is gentler now.

“What,” Yuuri says flatly, voice muffled under his hands.

“You feel like shooting stuff?”

Yuuri tentatively peers between his fingers and Phichit grins triumphantly.

 

There’s a certain comfort to be found in meaningless, pixelated carnage. It means he doesn’t have to think, and if there’s one thing he doesn’t want to do right now, it’s _think_. The splatter of a headshot isn’t wholly ineffective either.

“So what happens now?” Phichit pipes up, after long moments of blissful silence. “You gonna keep hooking up or what? And how come you stayed here last night? Trouble in paradise?”

Phichit waggles his brows and Yuuri makes a strained noise.

“Do I look like I have answers?” He asks despairingly.

Phichit’s eyes flicker over him, curled on the couch in rumpled pyjamas.

“Hm, guess not.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes. For a long moment, there’s only the sound of muffled ammunition and simulated grunts. The moment is cut short.

 

“You know, I did say -”

“Don’t,” Yuuri grinds out, fingers flexing around his controller.

Phichit bites his bottom lip, a vain effort to repress his mischievous grin.

“I won’t,” he says. “But -”

“ _Phichit_ ,” Yuuri growls in warning.

“Nothing, nothing!”

Phichit’s thumbs move over the joysticks with familiar ease, belying the repressed excitement in his eyes. Yuuri watches him warily from the corner of his eye. There follows a pause, and Yuuri releases a sigh, allowing himself to relax ever so slightly.

“Good,” he says, at length.

“I told you he was an asshole.”

“Phichit, I swear to God -”

“I _did_!”

Yuuri growls under his breath, and aims for Phichit’s avatar on screen.

“Hey!” He yelps. “Don’t shoot me! We’re on the same team!”

“Apparently not.”

Phichit snickers guiltily, fleeing his onscreen attack.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I surrender! I’m only teasing, okay?”  
“I know you are, that’s why I’m shooting you.”

“Just don’t blame me if you get your heart broken that’s all I’m saying!”

“Why would I blame you?”

Yuuri frowns, abandoning his assault, and drops his controller into his lap.

Phichit does likewise, turning around to rest his chin on the couch.

“I made you go there. I told you you needed to loosen up and then,” he winces, “everything went a little soap opera. I’ve created a monster,” he says gravely.

Yuuri huffs a laugh. He’s dimly aware of their characters dying on screen.

“Look, I’m not _obsessed_ , okay? And you were right, I do need to let myself go every now and again.”

Phichit grins.

“Let me be the Obi Wan to your horny Anakin Skywalker.”  
“Because that ended so well, right?” He rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to go all Darth Vader over a boy, okay?”

Phichit’s mouth twitches.

“Boys are the worst.”

Yuuri sighs.

“Agreed.”

 

* * *

 

In the steam of the shower, Yuuri feels almost human again. He pushes his wet hair away from his face, and imagines the memory of Viktor’s touch washing from his skin, swirling around his feet and disappearing.

 

 _This is a fresh start_ , he tells himself, emerging into the chilly air.

He stops short and stares at his reflection, no more than a faint silhouette in the foggy glass. He wipes a circle clear, just enough to reveal his flushed face, bleary without his glasses. He’d never paid too much attention to his appearance, always thinking himself rather plain, and more often than not, a little too soft around his middle. But now, he can’t seem to stop looking, only for what he doesn’t quite know. Perhaps to know what Vitkor sees every time he looks at him. To think how he’s already seen him like no one has before, utterly unselfconscious, panting under his hands.

 

His eyes trip over the faint shape of his mouth, the dark flash of his eyes. _Soft eyes_ , his Mother had always said. She could always tell exactly how he was feeling with just a glance.

_But what does Viktor see?_

 

He dresses quickly, roughly towelling dry his hair and shoving on his glasses. His skin is still flushed pink from the shower, but no doubt he’ll cool off on the walk. He glances nervously towards his bedroom door, beyond which Phichit lurks like a final boss.

 _You’re a grown man_ , he tells himself firmly. _What’s the worst he can do? Roll his eyes?_

He emerges sheepishly, running an agitated hand through his hair.

Phichit spares him a fleeting glance.

“You’re dressed!” He declares, and applauds politely.

“Yeah, I was thinking I’d go out. You wanna come?”

Phichit narrows his eyes.

“Back to San Junipero? Two nights in a row? Pretty wild.”

Yuuri shrugs.  
“I - need to talk to Viktor.”

Phichit flops dramatically over the arm of the couch.

“Of course you do,” he groans.

“It’s not like that,” Yuuri insists. “I’ve been thinking and I - I need to call this off, whatever _it_ is. And it’s not like I have his number.”

Phichit regards him from the sofa with suspicious eyes.

“And you can’t call it off by simply not seeing him ever again?”

Yuuri squirms.

“No,” he decides.

“How do you even know he’ll be there?”

Yuuri falters for a moment. He hadn’t really thought about that.

“I don’t know. Where the Hell else would he be?”

“He does exist outside of San Junipero, you know.” Phichit rolls his eyes. “He’s not some gay cryptid.”

Yuuri tugs a hand through his hair in frustration.

“It’s Saturday night. You think he’s doing his taxes?”

Phichit’s mouth twists thoughtfully.

“Good point.” He rolls onto his feet. “Let me change my shirt. We better leave soon or he’ll have a boy lined up already.”

“Shut up.” Yuuri says automatically, fidgeting by the door. Then: “Hurry up, okay?”

“I’ve created a monster!” Phichit yells over his shoulder.

 

* * *

 

“You know, I brought you here for a little stress relief. And what did you do? You only went and found more stress.”  
Yuuri scowls.

“Your support is appreciated, as ever.”

“Hey, I’m here for your benefit.” He shakes his head somberly. “Your first break up. It’s gonna be messy.”

“Shut up, it’s not a breakup. We hooked up twice.”

“I know,” Phichit pretends to restrain tears. “It was the love affair that shook the nation.”

Yuuri hits him in the chest.

“You’re really not helping.”

“Duly noted.” His eyes dance. “Let me go help out by the bar.”

“Keep an eye out for Viktor,” Yuuri says urgently. “I’m not ready to speak to him yet.”

“Orders received, over and out,” Phichit mumbles into his wrist, shooting him a smirk before he disappears into the crowd.

 

It’s still pretty early, Yuuri assures himself, settling into a vinyl stool by the bar. Viktor may even still be upstairs. For a moment, he imagines Viktor drifting aimlessly around his apartment, holding dress shirts speculatively against his chest, and glancing at the clock, calculating the perfect moment to arrive. The thought is absurdly intimate, and Yuuri shakes his head, dispelling the image to the back of his mind.

 

“You look very glum.”

Yuuri startles at the now familiar accent, blinking into clear blue eyes. The woman looks at him assessingly, cool eyes moving dispassionately over his face. Yuuri stares back, for one wild moment wondering if Russians have taken over Detroit.

“I’m fine,” he blurts, when it’s clear the woman’s waiting for a response.

“Says the boy sitting alone at the bar,” she drawls. “I’d ask you to buy me a drink, but you look cheap.”

Yuuri’s brows rocket into his hairline.

“Uhh,” is all he can manage.

“Don’t worry, I’m not hitting on you,” she rolls her eyes daintily. “I have two boyfriends already and one very beautiful girlfriend. I don’t think you’d fit in.”

Yuuri sinks his head into his hands.

“Look, not to be rude,” he says pointedly, “but I really need to think and I just can’t deal with - whatever it is you’re putting out there.”

“Ah,” she says, and the smug curl of her mouth is infuriatingly reminiscent of Viktor. “Boy trouble.”

 

The words sound distinctly exotic on her tongue, and he swallows, a hot flush creeping up his collar.

“How did you know?” He asks numbly.

She snorts.

“Sad boy sitting alone in gay bar? I can add two and two together.”

Yuuri frowns, and looks dubiously about himself.

“This is a gay bar?”  
She stares at him with such derision, that Yuuri thinks she wouldn’t look out of place in one of those old black and white movies. Most likely with a cigarette clutched in one hand, about to blow smoke in the face of some unsuspecting suitor.

“Are you for serious?” She asks dryly.

“I guess I never thought about it,” Yuuri says slowly.

She shakes her head, as if in despair, stirring the fiery hair that skims her jaw and mutters something in Russian.

“So,” she says, “are you going to tell me?”

Yuuri watches her warily.

“Tell you what?”  
“Your boy trouble. Come on, I’m all alone tonight and I crave a little entertainment.”

Yuuri watches his hands fidget nervously.

“It’s not much of a story.”

She shrugs a bony shoulder.

“Tell it anyway. I told you about my life, after all.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes.

 

_More like foisted it on him._

 

“Okay.” He releases a shuddering sigh. “So there’s this guy.” He cringes, the words sounding distinctly ridiculous.

She nods, her eyes bored.

“And he’s - okay, he looks like a movie star. I didn’t think someone like him would ever look twice at me . . . But he did, and he did more than that.” He gulps, staring determinedly down at the bar. “He took me back to his place, twice. And it was good. I mean it was great.” He’s babbling now, he thinks.

“Thrilling,” the girl says. “So what is the problem?”

“I don’t know what the problem is,” he admits. “Only, he says it’s just fun, and that he’s not interested in anything else. And I can’t stop thinking about him, and I can’t help feeling like an idiot either.”

“You like him,” she says flatly.

Yuuri nods.

“Then it’s your own fault.”

Yuuri’s head snaps up to stare at her.

“You went home with man you only just met. What were you expecting? Marriage proposal?”  
Yuuri’s mouth works soundlessly.

“No,” he says finally. “No, it’s not like that at all!”

“So what is the problem?” She asks again.

“I - don’t know if I want to do this anymore,” he admits.

“So don’t.”

“But - he’s nice.”

She arches a perfect brow.

“Is he? Or is he just very sexy?”

Yuuri scowls.

“Can’t he be both?”

“He could be, if you knew anything about him besides what his cock feels like.”

Yuuri splutters.

“That’s a little harsh.”

She shrugs, unfazed.

“It’s true.”

 

Yuuri opens his mouth to protest, but a shadow falls over them, and Georgi looms over the bar.

“Mila! No gossiping at bar.”

The woman - _Mila_ \- pulls a face.

“It’s a _bar_ , Georgi. Since we’re not about to tongue fuck each other, what else is there to do?”

Yuuri flushes, but neither of them pay him any mind.

“Drink in silence,” he says, and retreats back into the shadows.

Mila rolls her eyes.

“Georgi has been such a bore since Anya left him. Such a drag.”

Yuuri frowns.

“So you know Georgi?”

She gives him a pointed look.

“Two Russians in this shit hole? Can hardly be a coincidence.”

Yuuri swallows.

“So that must mean you know -”

“Viktor? Don’t remind me.” She smirks suddenly, her eyes gleaming. “Oh, I see.”  
Yuuri flushes guiltily, resisting the urge to hide his face in the sticky bar top.

“That _was_ an interesting story,” she says slyly and Yuuri flashes her a warning gaze. “I think your detective skills are not so good.”

“You are sworn to secrecy.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anybody we spoke. I have a reputation to think of.”

Yuuri stares at her, wondering how on Earth he hadn’t instantly clocked her for one of Viktor’s lot.  
“I really wish I hadn’t told you all that. But I guess you understand now. It’s not like I’m going to get another guy like him again.”

“Probably not, no.”

Yuuri sinks his head into his hands.

“Thank you for the pep talk.”

 

* * *

 

A short while later, Mila, now mentally dubbed _Viktor’s Cronie_ , excuses herself, and Phichit collapses into her seat, flushed and giddy. He holds a hand to his ear, mimicking an earpiece.

“White Stallion is in the building. Repeat: White Stallion is _in_ the building.”

Yuuri snaps to attention, eyes automatically flickering over the milling bodies. Phichit elbows him in the ribs.

“Amateur. Play it _cool_ ,” he murmurs from the corner of his mouth.

Yuuri forces himself to relax against the bar, and coolly follows Phichit’s eye line.

Sure enough, there’s Viktor, one arm draped around the shoulders of a dreamy looking blond, looking up at Viktor as if he can’t believe he’s real. Yuuri grits his teeth; he knows the feeling. Their pale heads are bend close together, whispering something, and Yuuri stares until Phichit jars him back to reality.

“So, what’s the plan? Are we freezing him out?”

He sobers, aiming a glare at an oblivious Viktor.

Yuuri shakes his head.

“No, it’s fine,” he says, fingers curling into fists on his knees. “I’m over it.”

Phichit looks at him skeptically, and he forces a bland smile.

“I mean he’s gorgeous,” Yuuri babbles, unprompted. “But so what? It’s not worth obsessing over, or feeling like an idiot every time I think about him.”

Phichit nods slowly and Yuuri exhales sharply through his nose.

“I don’t want to be an idiot.”

 

“Oh shit,” Phichit startles beside him. “White Stallion is on the move. Repeat: White Stallion is on the move.”

Yuuri’s head snaps up, and sees Viktor moving towards them like a force of nature.

“Fuck,” Yuuri breathes.

“Doesn’t play hard to get, does he?” Phichit whispers.

Yuuri swallows.

“He doesn’t need to.”

“Uh - I’m getting out of here, okay? This is gonna be pretty awkward.”

Yuuri looks panicked.

“You’re leaving?”

Phichit rolls his eyes.

“I’m gonna be right across the room, okay? I can’t break up with him _for_ you, Yuuri. Besides, that dude looks like a terminator, I don’t really wanna be here when this plays out.”

“Terminators aren’t sexy,” Yuuri retorts.

“Well, that’s a matter of an opinion,” Phichit says, making towards the crowd. “I’ll be over here, okay? Silently evaluating.” He grins, and cups his hands around his mouth: “I believe in you! Don’t be an idiot!”

 

He slips into the crowd before Viktor reaches them, and Yuuri releases a deep breath. Viktor presses close against his side, as clueless to personal space as ever.

“Back so soon? Let me guess,” he drawls, leaning in close. “You didn’t come here for me?”

Yuuri looks up at him, knuckles turning white in his lap.

“Actually, I did.”

Viktor looks surprised for a moment, before his mouth settles into a lazy smile. Yuuri summons his courage, refusing to balk under that alluring smile.

“Look,” he says. “I need to talk to you.”

“Kroshka,” Viktor says coaxingly. “Are you still angry with me? I thought we were friends again.”

“I’m not angry anymore, okay? I think,” he swallows, his mouth dry, and tries again. “I think you were right. It was _just_ fun, and I feel like an idiot for getting so worked up over it.”

Viktor is watching him carefully.

“Okay . . .”

Yuuri wipes his palms nervously down his thighs.

“So I think, we probably shouldn’t do it again.”

 

Viktor cocks his head, looking oddly childlike for a moment.

“You don’t want to go to bed with me any more?”

“I think it’s a bad idea.” He cringes, knowing that really wasn’t an answer. “But we can still be friends, right? I mean, we’re not friends,” he frowns, “but I guess we _could_ be.”

Viktor stares at him, and Yuuri can sense him turning the words over in his head.

“You want to be friends with me?”

Yuuri shrugs, his jaw working for a moment.

 

_Does he?_

 

“Sure. I mean, why not right?”

Viktor is nodding, his eyes still thoughtful, and Yuuri wonders what exactly he’s said that he’s having so much trouble with.

Before he can ask, there’s a hand on his shoulder, and Phichit is between them.

“Hey!” He pants. “Sorry to interrupt I just - we haven’t met yet, have we!” He extends a hand and says cheerily. “I’m Phichit, Yuuri’s roommate.”

Viktor takes it, still looking a little lost.

“Oh, a pleasure. And I’m -”

“I know who you are,” Phichit cuts in, and his voice sounds dangerously close to _smirking_. “Viktor, right?”

“That’s right.” Viktor’s eyes are slowly warming, and he inclines his head towards Yuuri. “Did Yuuri . . .?”

“Oh no,” Phichit waves a hand. “I’ve just heard all the gossip.”

“Gossip?” He looks confused, and Yuuri instinctively grabs Phichit’s arm, a silent _don’t_.

“You know Georgi,” Phichit lies easily, squirming out of Yuuri’s hold. “Such a storyteller!”

“Oh, Georgi.” Viktor’s voice is warm, apparently not finding the idea of a gossiping Georgi utterly absurd. “I can only imagine what he’s told you.”

Phichit and Yuuri share a look, but Viktor doesn’t notice.

“Listen, I have an idea. Let me get you both a drink.” His eyes find Yuuri, something indecipherable in their depths. “Yuuri and I were just saying we should get to know each other better.”

 

Yuuri leads Phichit away from the bar, who looks apprehensively over his shoulder.

“You don’t think he was hitting on us, do you? I thought you cock blocked him.”

“I did! Anyway don’t be ridiculous. He’s just being nice because he feels bad for me, I bet.” He cringes, settling into what is quickly becoming their regular booth. “And I said maybe we could be friends.”

Phichit stares at him.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” he shakes his head. “I was feeling awkward and I just had to say something. Besides,” his eyes flick over to Viktor, just visible at the bar. “He’s interesting.”

“Oh.” Phichit relaxes slightly. “Sorry for interrupting, then. For a moment I thought you guys were gonna kiss.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes.  
“And so your first instinct was to rush over?”

Phichit frowns.

“Yeah. Solidarity, Yuu, I got your back.”

 

Viktor is making his way towards them, and Yuuri flashes Phichit a warning look.

“Watch out, okay? He can drink for Russia.”

“Sounds fun,” Phichit grins.

“As fun as me staying up all night with your head in the toilet?”

Before Phichit can protest, Viktor has returned, settling a tray between them.

“Something sweeter this time,” Viktor says, sounding distinctly pleased with himself, and Yuuri eyes the brightly coloured drinks warily.

“Cocktails!” Phichit sounds awed.

“Georgi made them special.”

He slides in beside Phichit, pushing a delicate looking glass towards Yuuri. He takes it gingerly.

“So,” Viktor says, looking coolly between them. “How long have you two known each other?”

“Three years,” Phichit says. “We go to the same college.”

Viktor’s eyes alight curiously on Yuuri. He hadn’t known that, of course. Yuuri realises he has no idea what Viktor does either, besides seducing innocent strangers.

“Are you two lovers?” He asks innocently and Yuuri chokes.

“Oh, nothing like that.” Phichit grins easily. “I mean, I walked in on him in the shower one time, but that’s as far as it went.

“Phichit!” Yuuri splutters, and Viktor looks to him with a delicately raised brow.

“What a charming story.”  
Yuuri flushes dully, glaring into his untouched cocktail.

 

He zones out as talk turns to dancing, chancing a sip from his drink. It’s deceptively sweet, and he sets it aside. The last thing he needs this weekend is another drink.

Across the booth, Phichit is chattering excitedly, his glass sloshing precariously in his hand. Every gesture threatens to slop sticky alcohol over Viktor, who looks remarkably composed considering.

“Did Yuuri tell you he took ballet?”

Yuuri blinks, abruptly dragged back into conversation.

Viktor looks sly.

“He mentioned something to that effect. He never did say if he kept it up.”

Yuuri shrugs, not meeting his eye.

“It kind of got away from me when I started studying. My old teacher is always nagging me to take it back up again. She’s a family friend,” he adds awkwardly.

“I wish you would show me,” Viktor says, in that same coaxing tone.

“It’s unlikely,” Yuuri says flatly. “I’m so rusty now, I don’t think I’d know where to start.”

Viktor considers him a moment, his grin turning wicked.

“Now your friend can dance,” he says, and Phichit thrusts out his chest proudly. “A little unconventional, of course, but that’s the fun of it.”

Yuuri wonders if that even counts as praise, but Phichit seems satisfied.

“You should let him show you some time,” Viktor says, and Yuuri scowls.

“Oh, he’s got plenty of moves of his own,” Phichit snickers. “In fact, I remember when we first met, I thought he was absolutely _wild_. Do you remember, Yuu? You knocked back about twelve glasses of champagne and then you hogged that stripper pole all _night_.”

Phichit snorts, and Yuuri slams his hands against the table, colour rushing into his cheeks. He can feel Viktor looking at him with poorly disguised interest, Phichit dissolving into giggles at his side.

“You know what,” he says, a little too loudly. “It’s getting late. I should probably head.”

Viktor looks taken aback.

“So soon? Things were just getting interesting.”

“I’m still feeling a little rough from -” he cuts off abruptly, his cheeks burning, and knows Viktor’s not missing a thing. “I gotta go, okay.”

He shoves himself to his feet, and Phichit shoots Viktor a rueful grin.

“I guess that’s my cue. Nice talking to you, Viktor.”

Phichit catches up to him, Viktor’s bewildered eyes following them into the crowd.

 

“What was all that about?” Yuuri hisses.

“What? You were the one who said you should be friends. I was just - being friendly.”

Yuuri doesn’t say anything, and Phichit takes hold of his elbow.  
“It was just a bit of fun,” he says.

“I’m sick of people saying that,” Yuuri mutters.

“Sorry,” Phichit cringes. “Poor choice of words. I was just curious - it was like having drinks with a celebrity.”

“A C-list celebrity,” Yuuri replies darkly. “So what did you make of him?”

“He makes an impression,” he smirks. “Couldn’t think any higher of himself if we all dropped to our knees, I reckon. Nice enough, though.”

Phichit sways a little, and Yuuri grabs his arm before he can fall.

 

_What the Hell is that supposed to mean?_

 


	5. This Charming Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri collects strays.

_I would go out tonight_

_But I haven't got a stitch to wear_

_This man said, "it's gruesome,_

_"that someone so handsome should care"_

 

“I think he’s rich.”

To his credit, Phichit doesn’t have to ask _who_.  
“No way,” he snorts, taking out a sniper with ease. “If he was rich do you think he’d hang around a pit like San Junipero?”

Yuuri shrugs.  
“He’s eccentric. All rich people are.”

Yuuri fleetingly thinks of a white walled room, bathed in early morning sunshine.

 

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and for a crazy, heart-stopping moment he imagines it’s Viktor. He drops his controller, his avatar idling on screen and Phichit groans.

“Yuuri, you dead weight, at least pause the game.” He looks askance at him. “What’s up anyway? More boy trouble?”

Yuuri’s mouth twists, his thumb hovering over his phone.

“It’s Kenjirou.” He sounds weary. “Says he needs help with his paper.”

“Don’t be such a meanie,” Phichit scolds. “Kenjirou is so cute.”

“I’m not mean,” Yuuri protests. “I just don’t know why he likes me so much.”

“He’s adopted you,” Phichit teases, his grin silly. “You’re his big brother now.”

“I didn’t sign up for that,” Yuuri grumbles.

“I’ll take him. He’s adorable. Besides, I bet he’d do my chores if I asked nicely.

Yuuri pulls a face.

“We are not making Kenjirou do our chores.”

Phichit rolls his eyes.

“What? Can’t handle a little admiration?”

Yuuri ignores him, turning back to his phone.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri drums his fingers against the sticky table, eyes roaming nervously over the crowd. A little after eleven, he’d finally managed to part ways with Kenjirou. A short detour on his way from the library and - here he was.

He sighs, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Yuuri: What am I doing here?

Phichit: Looking mysterious i hope

 

Yuuri rolls his eyes, and is typing a retort when he catches sight of Viktor through the crowd, moving unerringly towards him. Without thinking, he ducks further into the booth, as if Viktor would abruptly lose sight of him and turn that beckoning smile on somebody else.

 _What are you doing?_ He demands silently. _Isn’t this what you came here for?_

Truthfully, he doesn’t know.

 

Undeterred, Viktor drops elegantly beside him, slinging an arm carelessly over his shoulders. Yuuri gapes, but before he can summon a protest a familiar figure is shoving brusquely towards them. He stops short, gaze fixed on Yuuri, whose eyes flash with recognition.

 

 _The rude American_ , he thinks, grinding his teeth together.

 

“JJ, do you mind?” Viktor drawls. “Can’t you see I’m having a private conversation?”

He cocks his head towards Yuuri, his hair tickling over his cheek. JJ makes no response, his eyes flicking calculatingly between them. Viktor frowns, following JJ’s gaze.

“Is something the matter?”

“We’ve met before,” Yuuri grinds out.

Viktor arches a pale brow.

“Is that so? Then I won’t waste your time making introductions.”

“Viktor -” JJ starts, but Viktor silences him with a look.

“Run along now, JJ. My friend and I have some catching up to do.”

  
The word _friend_ rolls off his tongue, his hand giving Yuuri’s shoulder a delicate squeeze. For a moment Yuuri thinks JJ’s going to say something, but then his mouth snaps shut, and he stalks into the crowd.

Viktor turns to him, looking thoughtful, and Yuuri braces himself for a barrage of questions, still prickling with remembered humiliation.

“I don’t like JJ,” is all he says.

Yuuri blinks. Viktor is so close, filling his senses - it’s distracting. He turns his face away, edging away from Viktor’s touch.

“I thought you liked everyone.”

Viktor appears to consider.  
“I don’t like JJ.”

Yuuri’s brain finally catches up with him, and his eyes narrow suspiciously.

“Did you just use me as a deterrent?”

Viktor looks put out.

“You make it sound so unseemly. I just wanted him to leave. Isn’t that what friends are for?”

 

 _Right_ , Yuuri thinks. _Friends._

 

* * *

 

 

That night, when sleep eludes him, Yuuri imagines Viktor on his knees, head bent over his lap. Secreted away in their booth, Yuuri slips his fingers through Viktor’s hair. Viktor’s voice is deep with pleasure, rumbling filthy sounding things against his skin.

Later, Yuuri curls on his side, and lets the guilt wash over him.

 

 _My friend_ , Viktor had said.

 

* * *

 

“I’m a horrible person,” he mumbles into his cereal.

Phichit rolls his eyes.

“A little fantasy doesn’t make you a _bad_ person, Yuuri. If it did I’d owe Oscar Isaac a formal apology.”

Yuuri pillows his head on his arms, his eyelids heavy after a long night of tossing and turning.

“But you’re not friends with Oscar Isaac,” he points out.  
“Don’t rub it in,” Phichit says. He’s silent a moment, turning thoughtful. His voice is decidedly careful when he speaks again.

“Are you really friends with Viktor?”

Yuuri stares blearily up at him.

“What do you mean?”

Phichit sighs, fixing Yuuri with a gentle look.

“I’m just saying. You only ever see him in San Junipero. Do you even like it there?”

“I -” Yuuri frowns. “So we’re not _friends_ , not really. But I think we could be. I mean I’ve - never met anyone like him before.”

“He broke your heart though,” Phichit points out.

Yuuri blushes furiously.

“No he didn’t! That was - just a whole big misunderstanding,” he insists.

Phichit shrugs, looking unconvinced.

“Look, I’ve got nothing against him. I think he’s fun. I’m just saying, I don’t think you’re going to get anything more than that out of him.”

 

Yuuri lets his words sink in.

“Phichit,” he says finally. “You’re not - jealous, are you?”

Phichit snorts in surprise, and laughs for so long he has to brush tears from his eyes. Yuuri glares at him, a guilty blush creeping up his neck.

“Listen, man,” Phichit grins. “As long as you’re paying rent, we’re okay.” Phichit sobers, looking thoughtful. “For real, though. If you want to give this ‘friendship’ with Viktor a chance, you need to forget about him a little. Get over this - obsession.”

Yuuri scowls.

“Like I haven’t been trying. How do I just forget about someone?”

“Easy. Next time you go to San Junipero, don’t look for him, don’t pay him any attention. Just let him do his thing, and you do yours. And if any boys happen to catch your eye,” he smirks, “so much the better.”

* * *

 

 

Phichit’s words ring in his head, louder than the music pulsing around him.

_Are you really friends with Viktor?_

 

He’s drawn from his thoughts by a hand on his arm, and turns to protest when he stops short.

“Surprise!” Kenjirou gushes, cheeks flushed pink with excitement.

“What are you doing here?” Yuuri demands, steering him to one side. “You can’t be here!”

Kenjirou’s face crumples.

“I thought you’d be happy to see me,” he says. “Phichit told me you guys come here all the time and I - thought it would be fun.”

Yuuri rubs a hand over his face, trying to marshal his expression into something a little more forgiving.

“I _am_ happy to see you, Kenjirou, of course I am. Just - not here, okay? You’re too young.” His eyes dart nervously over the crowd. “Way too young.”

“Too young for what?” Kenjirou frowns, peering around Yuuri. “Too young for dancing?” He grins. “I love dancing!”

Yuuri winces.

“Not exactly . . . Just - let’s go, okay? We can do something together. Something else.”

“Okay!”

Kenjirou perks up and Yuuri sighs, prodding him towards the exit.

“How’d you even get in here?”

Kenjirou makes a pleased sound and brandishes an ID. Yuuri takes it gingerly, and casts a dubious look between Kenjirou’s round, beaming face and the severe looking picture.

“Kenjirou this looks nothing like you.”

 

 _But then again, he never has seen anybody at the door._ _Boy_ , he thinks. _This place really is lax._

 

Yuuri deliberates a moment, considering confiscating the card, before he relents, releasing it back into Kenjirou’s dubious care. The sooner they get out of here the better, after all. He pokes Kenjirou’s shoulder, but he doesn’t respond, staring behind Yuuri as though transfixed.

“Who’s that?” He asks, sounding awed.

Yuuri turns and sure enough Viktor is barrelling towards them, his face alight with a smile.

“That’s Viktor,” he says wearily. “He’s kind of a force unto himself.”

“Yuuri!” Viktor cries, sweeping him into a hug.

He nearly bowls them over with sheer enthusiasm, and Yuuri steadies him with a hand on his arm. He doesn’t let the touch linger. Viktor breathes hard against him, damp with sweat, and Yuuri thinks he must have come straight from the dance floor. He carefully extricates himself and holds Viktor at arm’s length.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” Viktor asks, his breath sweet with sugary alcohol.

Yuuri stifles a groan, feeling a headache coming on. He’s spared answering when Viktor’s eyes fall on Kenjirou, looking between them as though they were celebrities, his mouth ever so slightly ajar.

“Ah! And who’s this cutie?”

Instinctively, Yuuri grabs Kenjirou’s shoulder, his eyes stony.

“Don’t even think about it. We were just leaving.”

Viktor’s eyes flash with hurt, and he leans down, pinching Kenjirou’s cheek.

“Yuuri, don’t be disgraceful. He’s only a child! Tell me, detka, did you sneak in?”

 

He speaks as sweetly as if to a baby, and Yuuri wonders absently if that’s the alcohol’s doing, or if Viktor simply has no concept of teenagers. Kenjirou doesn’t seem to mind, staring speechlessly up at him.

“This is Kenjirou,” Yuuri says. “We go to college together. Like I was _saying_ , he’s only seventeen, so we’re going to head out. I don’t know, get some hot chocolate or something.”

He shoots Kenjirou a firm look, wondering if hot chocolate will cut it.

“Ooh, that sounds like fun!” Viktor thrills.  
“You should come!” Kenjirou pipes up, startling the pair of them.

“Oh, Viktor doesn’t want to come, Kenjirou,” he says pointedly.

But Viktor isn’t listening.

“Really?” His eyes are shining. “How perfect!”

Yuuri stops short, taken aback.  
“Oh,” he says. “Or maybe he does.”

 

“Great!” Kenjirou exclaims, and makes for the door, at long last eager to leave.

Yuuri turns to Viktor.

“You don’t have to be polite, Viktor. It’s fine.”

Viktor looks confused.

“I’m not being polite,” he says. “Your charming friend invited me along. Unless, of course,” his smooth brow wrinkles. “You don’t want me to come?”

Yuuri gives a distracted sigh, looking for Kenjirou by the door.

“No, it’s fine. You can come.”

Viktor’s smile returns and Yuuri is helpless but to follow him through the crowd.

 

Kenjirou is waiting outside, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“I know exactly where we should go!” Viktor declares, and takes off down the street, still busy with late night adventurers.

Kenjirou turns to Yuuri with wide eyes.

“That’s the prettiest man I’ve ever seen,” he says in a hush. “Is he a movie star?”

Yuuri rolls his eyes.

“No, just melodramatic.”

Kenjirou nods sagely and takes off at a run after Viktor. Yuuri trails after their excited chatter, and can’t help but feel like a reluctant babysitter.

 

Viktor leads them to a quaint looking cafe, _Open til 3AM_ , it boasts in dayglo letters.

“My treat!” He declares, looking so excited that Yuuri just shrugs and leads Kenjirou to a table by the window.

 _This is - not what he expected_ , he thinks, watching Viktor bustle over with three steaming mugs. Viktor sits beside him, their legs brushing under the table, and Yuuri leans against the wall, evading the teasing touch.

Yuuri tunes out of the conversation, his eyes lingering on Viktor, pink cheeked and bright eyed with excitement. So far, Operation Avoid Viktor is a crashing failure.

 

“I like your hair,” Viktor’s saying, and he reaches out to tug Kenjirou’s red forelock.

Kenjirou looks as if he might explode from excitement.

“Very bold.” Viktor smiles. “That’s good. It’s important to make an impression.” His eyes flick over to Yuuri, almost playfully, and Yuuri frowns, refusing to think too much about that.

“You know,” Viktor taps his cheek thoughtfully. “I know a little boy just like you.” He appears to consider. “Well, not like you at all, actually. My friend is much angrier. But you have spark, like him, and you go after what you want. I admire that.”

His eyes have taken on a soft, faraway look, and Yuuri watches him closely. He’s never seen Viktor like this before. Then, Viktor smiles, and the moment is gone.

 

When Kenjirou excuses himself to the bathroom, Viktor turns the full weight of his gaze on Yuuri. Slumped against the wall, he stares into his cup, avoiding his eye. Viktor taps the side of his nose, his smile teasing.

“I think maybe he has a little crush on you.”

Yuuri shakes his head.

“It’s not like that. He doesn’t have a whole lot of family, and the ones he does are back in Japan.” He shrugs. “I think he’s lonely.”

Viktor is quiet for so long, Yuuri looks up, and sees that soft look has returned to Viktor’s eyes. He’s never seen him so grave.

“He is very lucky he has a friend like you, then,” he says softly.

Yuuri stares, at a loss for what to say. The moment stretches between them, growing in intensity until Yuuri feels he cannot breathe. Then Kenjirou is back, his voice an excited rush, and the moment bursts. Yuuri looks away, almost grateful for the reprieve. Beside him, Viktor’s eyes flicker back into familiar brightness.

 

Yuuri watches him closely for the rest of the evening, but that soft look doesn’t return. Finally, Yuuri announces they should be leaving and Kenjirou rises reluctantly, shooting Viktor a shy smile.

“Good night, little one,” Viktor says playfully. “I better not see you in San Junipero again.” He winks and Kenjirou smiles in delight, shooting Yuuri a furtive look. Viktor’s gaze turns on Yuuri, that same playful smile at his lips.

“And Yuuri, the same goes for you. We must set Kenjirou a good example, after all.”

Yuuri stares at him, his hand stilling on the buttons of his jacket.

“Good night, Yuuri.”

Yuuri clears his throat and turns towards the door.

“Goodnight, Viktor.”

“Goodnight, Viktor!” Kenjirou pipes up. “Thank you for the cocoa!”

Yuuri steers him towards the door, ignoring his pout, as they push into the cold night air. He can feel Viktor’s eyes linger after them, but he doesn’t look back.

 

“Did you even tell your dorm mates where you’d be?”

Kenjirou looks pleased with himself.

“I told them I’d be at the library,” he admits.

Yuuri rolls his eyes.

“That’s - really not safe, you know. Someone should know where you are. What if something happens to you and no one knows where to look?”

Kenjirou lapses into thought, worrying at his bottom lip.

“I can tell you,” he says finally.

“Yes,” Yuuri says, exasperated. “You can tell me.” A pause, and then he frowns. “Or just don’t sneak out at night,” he corrects himself.

Kenjirou grins cheekily.

“But if I hadn’t, I’d never have seen you or met Viktor! Sometimes you have to take risks if you want something good to happen,” he grins.

 

Yuuri says nothing, and silently adds Kenjirou  to the list of people giving him life lessons lately.

 

* * *

 

Phichit finds out, of course. Yuuri has long suspected his sixth sense for gossip.

“Heard you and Viktor took Kenjirou out for hot chocolate,” he singsongs.

Yuuri groans, hiding behind his textbook.

“Isn’t that sweet? Like a couple of gay Dads.”

Yuuri’s hands clench around the book, resisting the urge to throw it at him.

“It’s not my fault your stupid plan backfired,” he retorts.

“Who said it backfired?" Phichit shrugs. "You wanted to know if you could be friends with Viktor, and you did it.”

Yuuri considers this.

 

 _Huh_ , he thinks.

 

“No tongue action or anything,” Phichit adds, and Yuuri aims for his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this seems a little rushed! Please let me know if you'd rather I take more time :)
> 
> Thanks again for reading and for all your wonderful feedback!
> 
> Hit me up on [tumblr!](http://regulargumball.tumblr.com/)


	6. Tainted Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri resists Viktor's teasing advances and soon regrets it when he appears to have latched onto someone new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, guys!
> 
> This chapter isn't too long, but I was finally able to concentrate and thought I should post something to assure you all that the story and I are both alive and well.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has commented and messaged me on tumblr - you guys are the reason I was motivated not to let this story die.

_Once I ran to you_

_Now I'll run from you_

_This tainted love you've given_

_I give you all a boy could give you_

_Take my tears and that's not nearly all_

 

Viktor’s head tips sleepily onto Yuuri’s shoulder, his glass held carelessly in sleep slack fingers. Yuuri gingerly takes it before it can slop over his lap, and places it firmly out of Viktor’s reach. Viktor doesn’t react, mumbling the end of a half forgotten story. A fall of hair grazes his neck and Yuuri shivers, inching along sticky vinyl to escape the teasing touch. He steals a glance at his phone, reading three am and shoots the top of Viktor’s silver head an accusatory look. Tonight they had lingered long after hours, and Yuuri could feel regret in the stiffness of his limbs, longing to fall into bed.

 

“It’s okay!” Viktor had declared, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “I know the owner!”

Now, Viktor yawns widely, snagging his shirt with a surprisingly strong grasp. His nose skims the line of his throat, and Yuuri shoots Phichit a panicked look. But Phichit doesn’t notice, rolling his empty glass between his hands as Georgi drones beside him.

 

“When Anya left me, Viktor said I should come to America. He said it would help me forget, but I didn’t want to forget.”

“Uh huh.”

Phichit nods distractedly, glancing into his empty glass. He chances a look at Georgi, and decides it would be rude to ask for a refill.

“Anya was the best thing to ever happen to me,” Georgi is saying. “And since she left me I have nothing.”

Phichit stifles a yawn. He’s long past offering platitudes. His promise of other fish in the sea was met with the plaintive cry that Anya was vegetarian, and his feeble suggestion that time would heal all wounds provoked outright contempt.

 

“I see so many people come and go. Every night I see them. People trying to impress, or looking for a good time. But none of them compare.”

Phichit idly spins his glass between his hands.

“Well, her loss, right?” He shrugs.

Georgi slowly turns to him, as if gripped by dawning revelation.

“Yes, it is,” he says, a strange cadence in his usually melancholy voice.

Phichit rounds on him incredulously. The way Georgi’s looking at him . . . It borders on _emotion._  Phichit quickly turns away, shooting Yuuri a pointed look.

 

Across the table, Yuuri nods. Viktor’s eyes are slipping shut, and Yuuri rouses him with a shrug of his shoulder, Viktor’s head rising to blink sleepily at him.

“ _Yuu_ -ri,” he mumbles, and frowns, as if fumbling with recollection.

“It’s really late,” Yuuri says, carefully avoiding his soft gaze. “We should go.”

Viktor’s smile is slow, luxurious.

“We?”

Yuuri scowls.

“All of us,” he says firmly. “But especially you. I don’t think I could carry you upstairs.”

Viktor’s brow falls against his shoulder.

“You could try,” he says petulantly.

Yuuri rolls his eyes, and shoves to his feet, tugging Viktor with him. Viktor sways, staring down at Phichit and Georgi as if willing them into focus.  
“Georgi,” he says gravely. “I have to go now. Yuuri says it’s time to go.”

Georgi’s eyes slide impassively to Yuuri, then back to Viktor, and he nods.

“That would be best.”

“Don’t have any fun without me,” Viktor whines, as Yuuri manhandles him from the booth.

Phichit rises decisively, Georgi’s eyes on him the whole time.

“I think it’s time we call it a night too,” he says, grateful for the reprieve.

“I’ll meet you outside, okay?” Yuuri calls over his shoulder.

Phichit glances pointedly at Georgi.

“Take Georgi. Won’t you need a hand?” He pauses, grappling for the right words. “Handling him?”

Yuuri shoots him a look.

“He’s practically sleep walking, I think I can handle myself. I won’t be long, okay?”

Phichit doesn’t look convinced, and Yuuri tightens his hold around Viktor.

“I’ve got him,” he insists.

 

He turns back to Viktor, mumbling incomprehensibly against his neck.

“Come on,” he says gruffly. “Before you pass out entirely.”

Viktor allows himself to be led towards the door like a petulant child overdue for bedtime, his lanky frame draped over Yuuri’s shoulders. Viktor stumbles over the doorstep, mumbling something scolding, and Yuuri tightens his grip on his waist, keeping him close to his side.

In the chill of the night air, Viktor frowns, and presses his face closer against the warmth of Yuuri’s throat.

“Yuuri,” he mumbles. “Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri.”

“Yes?” Yuuri asks, slightly breathless.

“Are you taking me home?”

“Of course.” He fights the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m not going to leave you in the street. Although, Georgi would find you eventually,” he adds as an afterthought.  
“Are you taking care of me?” Viktor asks, a note of wonder in his voice, and Yuuri flushes.

“Sort of,” he admits grudgingly.

Yuuri falters at the bottom of the staircase, glancing dubiously between Viktor and his apartment. He dimly wonders if maybe he should have accepted Georgi’s help in negotiating Viktor into bed, and wonders why he was so hesitant to take it.

 

“Bear with me, okay?” He mutters. “We need to go up.”

Viktor leans heavily on him as he climbs, his breathing so slow and even that Yuuri fears he’s fallen asleep.

He jostles him with his shoulder, and only feels faintly guilty at Viktor’s injured look.

“Hey,” he says. “Don’t fall asleep.”

Viktor moans, but allows himself to be frogmarched the rest of the way. Yuuri breathes a sigh of relief on the balcony, and gingerly leans Viktor against the doorframe, hoping he doesn’t topple back down the stairs.

“Uh.” He stops short, abruptly realising he doesn’t have Viktor’s keys.

“Where are your keys, Viktor?”

Viktor sounds childishly amused, his head lolling back against the wall.

“In my pocket.”

“Can you get them for me?” He asks impatiently, and Viktor frowns.

“No,” he smirks lazily. “You said you were taking care of me.”

Yuuri makes a frustrated noise, and pats Viktor down with the efficiency of a police officer. He locates the keys in his front pocket, and gingerly slips his hand inside, the warmth of Viktor’s skin through the denim a teasing distraction. He snatches his hand back, clutching the keys, his cheeks flushed.  Viktor is smirking, and Yuuri briefly considers leaving him on his doorstep until Georgi can retrieve him. But Viktor is shivering, the pale skin of his forearms goosepimpled in the chill. Yuuri fumbles with Viktor’s surprisingly bulky key chain until the front door is finally open, and prods Viktor inside, feeling not unlike a prison warden.

  
Viktor reaches out for him blindly in the dark, and Yuuri clumsily takes hold of his elbow, steering him towards the bedroom. He doesn’t dwell on _why_ he can lead Viktor to his own room with such ease.

Viktor collapses eagerly into bed, smoothing his cheek over the covers. Yuuri flicks on the lamp, bathing them in warm light, and dry swallows at the sight of him, curled sleepily atop the covers.

“Yuuri,” Viktor’s voice is muffled against the sheets. “Did you kiss me tonight?”  
Yuuri’s eyes widen at the unexpected question.

“No!” He stammers. “No, of course not.”

 

 _He should just go_ , he thinks. _Viktor’s a grown man, and by everyone’s account he’s been around the block plenty of times to handle himself by now._

 

“Here,” Yuuri says, and crouches to tug off his shoes. He doesn’t dwell on the feel of expensive leather, shoes seemingly made for a rich man, tucking that away as unnecessary information. Viktor’s socked feet are absurdly delicate, long and slender like the rest of him, and he draws them onto the bed like a petulant child. With some difficulty, Yuuri works the sheets out from under him, and manages to throw them over his curled body. Viktor is silent but for his soft breathing, and Yuuri is turning to leave when a hand clumsily grabs him by the wrist.

Yuuri inhales sharply, daring to glance over his shoulder. Viktor is blinking up at him through his air, eyes soft with confusion.

“You aren’t staying?”

Yuuri tugs away but Viktor holds fast. Yuuri represses a sigh.

“Viktor, I need to go home.”

Viktor noses free of the coverlet, staring up at him with glazed eyes.

“Why?”

Yuuri’s jaw works soundlessly, grappling for an answer.

“Because it’s my home,” he settles on hopelessly. “I live there.”

Viktor makes a malcontented noise, and buries his face into the pillows.

“You can’t seriously be coming on to me now,” Yuuri scoffs. “You can’t even stand on your own!”

Viktor’s sly retort is half swallowed by a yawn.

“I’m not asking you to stand.”

 

Yuuri is unable to restrain an eye roll, almost relieved to hear the return of Viktor’s salacious confidence. It washes the guilty feeling away at leaving him now, looking so vulnerable. He pulls his arm free, and takes a decisive step back.

“I’m leaving,” he says firmly.

Viktor doesn’t respond, already slipping into sleep. Yuuri shakes his head, and clicks off the light, blanketing Viktor in darkness.

“Good night, Viktor.”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri peers from Viktor’s balcony to see Phichit lingering below. His breath fogs in the chill, but he grins when he catches sight of him.

“Oh Romeo, Romeo,” he smirks.

Yuuri rolls his eyes, traipsing down the staircase.

“ _You’re_ Romeo, idiot,” he mutters.

“Charmer,” Phichit grins and Yuuri scowls.

“I mean because I’m on the balcony and you’re -” he shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“He go down all right?” Phichit says, as if Yuuri is the helpful babysitter signing off after a long night.

Yuuri shoves his hands in his pockets, setting off down the road.

“Where’s Georgi?” He says, in lieu of answering.

Phichit jerks his head towards the bar.

“Locking up.” He’s silent for a moment. “I’ve never seen Viktor like that,” he says finally. “Must have been having a good night.”

Yuuri looks dubious.

“If you say so.” He falters, before admitting: “Something kind of weird did happen . . . He wanted me to stay.”

Phichit shrugs.

“Big whoop. He wants in your pants. We’ve already established that.”

“He was half asleep,” Yuuri persists. “I think he wanted -” he stops short. It’s too absurd.

 

Viktor couldn’t be lonely. He was the one who had pushed _him_ away. Phichit elbows him in the ribs, jostling him from his thoughts.

“Wanted what?”

Yuuri shakes his head.

“Never mind.”

 

The sky is already beginning to lighten, he notes absently. It’ll be morning soon, the day already half gone.

“Was it something kinky?”

 

* * *

 

“Yuuri won’t dance with me anymore.”

Yuuri almost chokes, the word _dance_ ringing teasingly in his ears.

It’s been little over a week, but the memory of Viktor as he’d last seen him . . . Curled pliant and petulant and almost _pleading_ \- it hits Yuuri like a freight train.

 

Phichit grins deviously, and Yuuri shoots him a warning look.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

Chin in hand, Viktor turns beseeching eyes on Yuuri. He refuses to blush.

“I think he’s frightened I will seduce him again.”

“Or,” Yuuri forces out between gritted teeth, “you’re so rude I can’t face your criticism anymore.”

“No, no. I’m not rude,” Viktor insists sulkily. “I like it when you dance.”

He’s wheedling now, one finger stroking the back of Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri snatches his hand away.

“Dance with Phichit,” he says unthinkingly.

Viktor turns speculative eyes on Phichit, who shrugs.

“Sure, that sounds fun. I can’t afford to get Yuuri drunk enough anyway.”

 

Yuuri scowls and watches them go, ignoring the pointed look Viktor flashes over his shoulder. Through the crowd, he glimpses Phichit’s laughing face, Viktor’s pale hands taking hold of his waist, trying vainly to corral his over enthusiasm. Yuuri rests his chin in his hand and watches them move together until _Purple Rain_ turns to _Tainted Love_.

 

When Phichit finally falls back into the booth, flushed and grinning, Yuuri feigns great interest in his glass. Viktor is left to the mercy of the crowd, and Yuuri refuses to let himself look. Phichit sobers at the look on Yuuri’s face, and snags his drink.

“What’s up your butt?”

“Nothing’s up my butt,” Yuuri scowls.

Phichit waggles his brows.

“Is that the problem?”

Yuuri’s mouth twists, refusing to answer, and Phichit pulls a face.

“Yuuri,” Phichit groans. “Tell me you’re not still blue-balled over Viktor.”

Yuuri’s mouth falls open.

“I’m not!” He blurts.

Phichit raises a brow.

“Convincing.”  
“I’m not,” Yuuri flushes but ploughs on regardless: “ _blue balled_ over Viktor, okay? I could have stayed with him last week as you’ve been so kind to remind me.”

“But you didn’t,” Phichit points out, before draining his glass. He presses it back into Yuuri’s hand in afterthought.

“Because I didn’t want to,” Yuuri scowls.

Phichit shrugs, a teasing smile tugging at his mouth.

“Good,” he says, and flicks his dark eyes towards the crowd. “So _that_ won’t bother you, then?”

Yuuri follows his gaze to see Viktor’s slender frame wrapped in a stranger’s arms. Viktor’s lips skim a stubbled cheek, and Yuuri’s chest clenches painfully.

“No,” he says, his voice sounding strangled to his own ears.

“Yeah?” Phichit looks unimpressed. “Maybe work on convincing yourself first.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why but I thought it would be really funny if Georgi suddenly latched onto Phichit...
> 
> Come chat with me on [tumblr!](http://regulargumball.tumblr.com/)


	7. Eye of the Tiger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri can't get Viktor out of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some pining for your January blues ❤︎
> 
> I want to announce here that I am working on a companion fic which will explore some of the juicier moments from Viktor's POV throughout this story. Hope you guys check it out!

_So many times it happens too fast_

_You trade your passion for glory_

_Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past_

_You must fight just to keep them alive_

 

Yuuri goes home alone that night, walking until San Junipero is enveloped in darkness. Only then does he let himself pretend.

He imagines taking hold of slender hips, as Viktor had done, and pulling him flush against his chest. Viktor’s eyes would flash with something like gratitude, maybe even desire. The stranger’s hands would fall away and Viktor would be _his_.

He plays the scene over and over in his head, fingers curling with the need to reach out and _take_. Slipping into his apartment, he imagines pinning Viktor against his door, writhing against him, straining for a kiss that Yuuri doesn’t give.

He collapses on his bed, his hand at his belt, and lets fantasy overtake him.

 

Viktor is beneath him, between his spread legs, pinned by Yuuri’s hips. He could easily throw him off if he wanted to - but he doesn’t. Yuuri tugs off his shirt, throwing it aside, and cradles Viktor’s head in his hands, hair slipping between his fingers as he draws Viktor’s mouth to his chest. Viktor makes a needy sound, taking Yuuri’s nipple between sticky, wet lips. He sucks greedily, tongue working like he’s entreating Yuuri to come, untouched but for his own desperate mouth.

When Yuuri pulls away, Viktor’s eyes are shining with need. He slicks his thumb over Viktor’s soft, wet mouth, and is rewarded with a swipe of tongue, tasting the salt of his skin.

“Let me look at you.”

Viktor stares up at him, pupils blown and huge, and Yuuri’s chest squeezes painfully.

“What do you want from me?” He breathes. “Something only I can give you. I’ll give you anything.”

“Yuuri, _please_. Kiss me.”

Yuuri tugs him forwards with the hold on his jaw, and kisses him roughly. Viktor’s mouth is soft and bruised under his own, pliant as he licks into his mouth. He breaks away to pant against Viktor’s cheek.

 

“Take these off,” he murmurs rough by his ear.

Viktor squirms underneath him as he sheds his clothes, until he’s finally bare underneath him. Yuuri draws his legs apart, splayed wide on the sheets until Viktor’s cock juts between them. Viktor grabs fistfuls of the sheets as Yuuri fits himself between his legs, keening when Yuuri slicks his cock.

 

He looks nothing like Viktor, he knows, but as he straddles his hips, Viktor’s watching him like he can’t get enough. He sinks onto Viktor’s cock, thighs quivering.

“Is this what you want, Viktor?”

Viktor grabs handfuls of his ass, drawing him agonisingly slow up and down his length.

“ _Yes_.”

Viktor’s body moves tirelessly under him, as if tortured, every muscle working to contain his pleasure. His long toes curl into the sheets, fingers grasping at Yuuri’s plush skin. His neck strains back, and Yuuri wants to trace the skin, bite the corded muscle.

“Open your eyes,” Yuuri pants. “Watch me.”

Viktor’s eyes blink open, watching him from under his eyelashes. His lips quiver and something in Yuuri snaps.

 

He drives himself onto Viktor’s cock, shivering when he cries out in surprise. He feels so big underneath him, so strong, so masculine, and completely under Yuuri’s power. His cock slaps against his stomach, hard and desperate for attention, but Yuuri ignores it, pulling Viktor deep inside him until finally his body pulses, and Viktor cries out as he comes.

 

Viktor is soft and flushed as he recovers, crumpled on the sheets. Yuuri draws himself the length of Viktor’s body, watching Viktor’s eyes flare with realisation and heady excitement. Yuuri’s cock slips between Viktor’s lips, and he takes him eagerly, hands clutching his ass to pull him closer, deeper. Yuuri thrusts his hips experimentally, thighs quivering with restraint. Viktor is so eager beneath him, lips slipping around him, tongue teasing, his face bracketed by Yuuri’s thighs -

 

Yuuri spills over his hand with a choked shout, the fantasy crystallising to painful clarity, then shattering around him. His breathing is ragged in the quiet, his hand uncomfortably sticky against his stomach.

Dimly, he hears Phichit’s key in the lock, and instinctively ducks under the covers, his own panting breath in his ears. Outside, Phichit’s footsteps falter and Yuuri winces, silently willing him to keep walking. After a tense moment, Phichit’s bedroom door creaks open and Yuuri sags in relief.

 

The last thing he needs right now is a lecture.

Or worse, a pep talk.

* * *

 

By late afternoon, Yuuri’s vision is beginning to swim. He drops his textbook, and pillows his head on his arms, muffling a groan. Since last night’s _unfortunate_ circumstances, he’s done all in his power to try and distract himself. But it seems no amount of hot showers or poring over textbooks can dispel the image of Viktor as he’d last seen him. He absently remembers a half-frenzied wish to never forget him, and silently curses himself.

 

_Looks like you got what you wished for, idiot._

 

Yuuri tugs off his glasses, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes until the printed words are unreadable. He wishes that, just for a moment, it were so easy to blot the pictures from his memory. Each time he lets down his guard it’s something new - Viktor laughing, moaning, pleading, or in the arms of a stranger - the reel of pictures looping over and over. Viktor’s been giving him whiplash lately: one moment hugging him like a dear friend, the next coaxing him into his bed, and then -

 

Yuuri shuts his textbook with a snap, and pushes away from his desk. He needs to get out of his head. His eyes stray gingerly to his phone, before he snatches it up, flicking open Skype before he can talk himself out of it. Really, it’s been too long since he phoned home. He’s been putting it off, he knows, but every time he hangs up, he can’t shake the feeling that lingers for hours - a longing for home.

Yuuri slumps on his bed as his phone rings out, staring blindly at the screen. Finally, the line connects, and a blurry shape materialises. Yuuri can just make out what looks suspiciously like tufts of peroxide blonde hair.

“Hello?” Comes the familiar bored drawl, and despite himself, Yuuri’s mouth twitches into a smile.

“Hi, Mari.”

She grunts something that sounds like _I can’t see shit_ and then:  
“Ah. There you are.”

“Nice to see you too.”

Mari’s retort is cut off by a cry from the other room:

“Mari! Was that your phone I heard? Is it Yuuri?”

“Other people call me,” she says defensively, but then another figure is bustling into screen.

“Ah! Yuuri! It’s so good to see you.”

His Mother’s voice is warm, and Yuuri’s chest constricts.

“You too,” he says, grappling for his glasses. “Sorry it’s been so long since I called. Things got a little - chaotic.”

 

He shoves his glasses on his nose, smiling when Mari’s disgruntled face and his Mother’s smile slip into view.

“Don’t worry, Yuuri. I know you’re a busy young man.”

Yuuri winces, sparing a guilty thought for just what - or _who_ \- has kept him so busy of late.

“Is Dad around?”

“No, I’m sorry. He’s out for his evening stroll.” She brightens: “But Minako is here! You want me to call her through?”

Yuuri frowns, propping himself against the wall.

“What’s she doing there?”

“Drinking all the sake,” his Mother replies cheerfully.

Yuuri snorts.

“What else.”

“Hang on, Yuuri.” His Mother cranes away. “Minako! _Minako_ , come here. Yuuri’s on the phone.”

Yuuri glances at Mari, picking boredly at her nails, as Minako loudly announces her arrival from somewhere off screen.

“About time!” She hollers, and then she’s dropping into view, unceremoniously shoving Mari out of the way. “Exactly how long has it been?”

“You have a phone!” He retorts.

She flaps a hand carelessly.

“But I can never figure out the time difference. It’s too much hassle.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes.

 

“Wait a moment . . . Something’s up.” Minako cranes close to the screen, dark eyes probing, before jabbing a finger in accusation. “Aha!” She says, half triumphant, half appalled. “I knew something was different! You’ve gotten soft!”

Yuuri flushes, instinctively drawing the phone further from himself.

“Your face is so round, Yuuri!” She says suspiciously. “You’ve been stress eating! What’s going on?”

“Why does something have to be going on?” He groans, flexing a sweaty hand at his side.

“Leave him alone, Minako,” his Mother says gently. “You know how he gets when he’s stressed.”

“I’m not stressed!” Yuuri squawks in protest. “Nothing’s going on. I’m _fine_.”

The three women regard him for a moment, expressions ranging from dubious, to sympathetic, to downright mutinous.

“Phichit’s here,” Yuuri blurts. “Hang on, let me get him. _Phichit!_ ”

Phichit’s head pops around the door a moment later.

“You rang?”

“Phone for you.”

Yuuri slumps onto his bed in defeat and tosses him the phone. Phichit catches it easily, grinning when he’s greeted by a trio of voices.

“Hello, Mama Yuuri! Ladies, how are you doing?”

 

Yuuri slips a hand under his glasses, rubbing a hand over his eyes and tuning out the tinny conversation. He almost misses the telltale slip in Phichit’s voice, and looks up just in time to catch the sly gleam in his eye.

“So,” he says sweetly. “Has Yuuri told you all about his latest paramour?”

A delighted squawk erupts from the phone and Yuuri launches himself from the bed, snatching his phone. When he looks down, his Mother’s eyes are round and shiny, Minako appears to have snatched the phone in her excitement, and Mari looks - mildly interested.

“Don’t listen to him,” Yuuri says hastily, shooting Phichit a glare over his shoulder. “You know all he does is _lie_.”

Unseen, Phichit affects a wounded look, throwing a hand to his chest. Yuuri doubts they heard him anyway, what with Minako chanting _we need a name, we need a name_ over and over.

“It’s nobody,” Yuuri insists weakly, his face burning. “There’s no name!”

“It’s Viktor!” Phichit pipes up. “Viktor Nik-”

Yuuri slaps a hand over his mouth before he can finish.

 

“Viktor?” His Mother is saying. “What a _handsome_ name. Is he an American, Yuuri?”

Yuuri stalks to the other side of the room, clutching his phone protectively.

“Yeah, is it serious?” Mari asks flatly. “Do you _love_ him?”

“He’s very dreamy!” Phichit offers.

Yuuri is casting around for something to throw at him when Minako crows gleefully, hunched over her phone.

“No, Minako!” Yuuri groans. “Don’t look him up!”

“Too late.” She makes a triumphant sound, and then: “Hot damn, Yuuri! I can’t even look at him - it’s like looking at the sun!”

“Dammit, Minako,” Yuuri groans over a chorus of _let me see, let me see_ , and hides his flushed face in his hand. “How did you find him so fast? There must be _millions_ of Viktor’s in the world.”

She waggles her phone teasingly, its glowing screen blurred out of focus.

“But only one you’re friends with on Facebook,” she smirks.

Yuuri scowls: _he should never have accepted that friend request._

 

“Ooh,” Minako is saying. “ _Very_ nice!”

“Very handsome,” his Mother agrees genially, and if that isn’t the worst thing that’s happened in a long while, he doesn’t know what.

“I want to see too!” Phichit grins, clamouring over his shoulder.

Yuuri shoves him towards the door.

“You’ve done enough!”

“But Yuuri -”

He shuts the door with a decisive kick, and feels a small satisfaction when it closes in Phichit’s face.

“Now I see why you’ve been so busy,” Minako is saying suggestively.

Yuuri glances at his phone, sees their three heads bent together, intently scrolling through Viktor’s feed.

There’s a gasp and then: “Are these _beach_ shots?”

Yuuri’s thumb is hovering over the end call button, when Phichit’s muffled voice sounds through the door.

“Check out ‘California 2014’!”

“Shut _up_ , Phichit!”’

* * *

 

One hour later, Phichit is still on a Time Out.

Yuuri doesn’t look up when a feeble knock at his door is followed by his wheedling voice.

“Yuuri? Are you still mad at me?”

It’s so reminiscent of Viktor, Yuuri is momentarily thrown.

“Yes,” he snaps.

“What are you doing?”

Yuuri glances guiltily at his computer screen, Facebook open in a new window. He’s never been big on social media, never even dared check out Viktor’s profile - another curiosity firmly labelled _dangerous_. His mouse hovers over Viktor’s icon - he can only just make out a flash of silver hair and Viktor’s irrepressible smile.

“I’m looking at Viktor’s page,” he admits finally.

“Oh,” Phichit says, in that same, small voice. “Masturbating?”

“What!” Yuuri splutters. “Of course not! I’m _investigating_.” He lets a note of accusation creep into his voice: “I need to know what _you_ let them see.”

“Nothing scandalous,” Phichit insists.

The door creaks open a crack, and one dark eye regards him hopefully.

“Can I come in?”  
“No,” Yuuri says, without feeling.

Phichit creeps in anyway, and Yuuri doesn’t have the heart to shoo him away. Summoning his courage, Yuuri opens Viktor’s page. A flash of bare collarbone is all it takes before he’s hurriedly exiting, fingers shaking. He can practically _feel_ Phichit repressing an eye roll.

 

An uncomfortable thought occurs to him, and he shoots Phichit a suspicious look.

“How come you’re so familiar with Viktor’s Facebook anyway?”

Phichit lifts his chin, a smirk teasing at his mouth.

“If you must know, I use his pictures to catfish people online.”

Yuuri stares at him for a long moment.

“I - I don’t want to know if that’s a joke,” he says finally. He considers a moment: “I also don’t think Viktor would disapprove.”

Phichit grins, and Yuuri turns back to his computer haughtily.

“Don’t smile at me, I’m still furious at you.”

Phichit doesn’t look convinced.

“Okay. I’ll give you fifteen minutes until you get bored,” he says, with irritating confidence, before slipping into the den.

 

Yuuri is grateful for the reprieve. Once more, his efforts to forget Viktor have backfired tremendously. He thinks of his family, crowded into screen, all so delighted to hear something’s finally gone right for him. With a guilty start, he realises that he hasn’t spoken to them since before he first met Viktor. That, at least, explains the surreality of seeing them again. After everything that had happened . . . it was almost as if he was a different person. Frankly, he’s not surprised Minako noticed something was up - she always was too shrewd for anyone’s comfort.

Yuuri rolls to his feet, stretching out a kink in his back, and catches sight of himself in the mirror. He stops short, one hand falling to the softness of his stomach through his shirt.

 

_You’ve gotten soft!_

 

_Leave him alone . . . You know how he gets._

 

Yuuri heaves a shuddering breath. He’s always been the anxious type - it’s hardly a surprise his family are on the lookout for any warning signs. Whenever things got on top of him, they’d all clamour around him. Yuuri’s thoughts stray to Vicchan, who’d bump his nose conspiratorially into Yuuri’s hand, his head warm in his lap. Yuuri’s heart clenches at the memory. After Vicchan had passed, his Mother seemed forever armed with green tea, pressing a cup into his hand at every opportunity with a promise it would see him right in no time. Mari had even offered him a cigarette on at least one occasion, and Yuuri had coughed and spluttered til tears rolled fat down his cheeks. But Minako -

 

Minako had grinned, hands on her hips and declared:

“Whoever said you can’t outrun your problems never took a lap with me!”

And it was true. Even long after he’d abandoned dancing, she’d tug him out into the cold, night air, running at his side before eventually peeling away, jetting off ahead with little more than a teasing glance thrown over her shoulder.

_Keep up, kid!_

 

Yuuri can still remember the feeling - feet pounding, heart pounding, driving all thoughts from his mind. He casts a dubious look around his room. He just _knows_ he has a pair around here somewhere.

* * *

 

Yuuri trips into the den, still tugging on his other shoe.

“I knew you’d come crawling back,” Phichit drawls. He glances over his comic, and raises a quizzical brow. “What are you doing?” He sounds scandalised, his comic falling forgotten to his chest. “Are you going for a run? On _purpose_?”

Yuuri frowns, fidgeting with his laces.

“Yeah. What’s the big deal?”  
“You don’t go _running_.”

“Yes, I do.” Yuuri straightens, growing flustered. “I mean - I used to.”

He smooths a hand over his side, tugging his t-shirt into place. Phichit’s eyes narrow.

“Are you wearing spandex?”  
“Yes, all right!” He snaps. “I’m going for a run wearing _spandex_ of all things, all right?”  
Phichit watches him carefully for a moment, before sighing longsufferingly, snapping his comic back into place.

“This is about what Minako said, isn’t it?”

Yuuri rolls his eyes.

“Were you eavesdropping the whole _time_?”

“You know I wasn’t, Yuuri. Minako is so _loud_. Besides, you shouldn’t listen to a thing she says. You’re adorable.”

Yuuri scowls.

“Well, maybe I don’t want to be adorable.”  
Another sigh.

“Is this about Viktor?”

“No!” He splutters. “Despite what you believe, not _everything_ is about Viktor.”

Phichit lets the comic fall back onto his chest.

“Okay,” he says skeptically. “I’m just saying - don’t feel like you need to change yourself, okay? Especially not for someone who isn’t even paying attention.”

Yuuri swallows down a sudden lump in his throat.

“It really isn’t that big a deal,” he insists. “I think it’ll make me feel better.”

Phichit regards him for a long moment.

“Okay,” he says finally, turning back to his comic. “Go work off that sexual frustration.”

* * *

 

Yuuri doesn’t like running here - it’s far too busy, too many prying eyes he can imagine trailing behind him. There was much more privacy to be had back home, in Japan. He feels a pang and squeezes his eyes shut, forces himself to go faster.

Guided by instinct, he finds himself navigating the busy main street, milling now with early evening commuters. San Junipero is just up ahead, he realises, and intimately regrets not diverting from the familiar route. It’s still early of course, the club won’t be open for hours. But Viktor’s apartment still looms, like an empty promise, or a threat.

Yuuri chases the thought from his head, and focuses on the slap of his old trainers on the tarmac, the rhythmic pounding of his heart, over and over, driving himself on. His breathing is ragged, torn from his burning lungs until he feels a ringing in his ears.

 

 _Oh God,_ he thinks. _I’m going to faint_.

_Yuuri._

 

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri stumbles, slowing his steps, and blinks around him. It’s a bike bell, he realises dumbly, casting around for the voice.

“ _Yuuri!_ "

He prods his glasses up his sweaty nose, and Viktor’s face swims into focus. Yuuri balks, stumbling backwards, and Viktor laughs in delight, wheeling his bike around Yuuri in an easy loop.

“Out for a run?” He grins. “So fun!”

“Viktor. What - what are you doing here?”

Yuuri cringes, and determinedly doesn’t look at him, as if avoiding his eye could hide his flushed face from Viktor’s curious gaze. Viktor pulls up alongside him.

“It’s a beautiful evening,” he grins, lounging over the handlebars. “I wanted to get some fresh air. Didn’t think I’d bump into you!”

“No,” Yuuri agrees grimly. “Me neither.”

“You know, I just realised! This is the first time we haven’t met in San Junipero,” Viktor declares, and Yuuri realises it’s true.

 

It’s oddly disconcerting. For a hysterical moment, the words _gay cryptid_ flash through his mind, and Yuuri cringes. It’s too real, somehow, seeing him out here . . . existing. San Junipero is so intimate yet impersonal all at once, Viktor’s bare apartment even more so - it would be all too easy to convince himself Viktor were a figment of his imagination, if not for Phichit’s meddling.

 

“I guess so.”

Yuuri bounces on the balls of his feet, wanting nothing more than to tear away in the opposite direction. The only thing holding him back is the certainty that Viktor would follow.

“We should celebrate!” Viktor grins. “Let’s get a drink. It is unseasonably hot, after all.”

“What, now?” Yuuri stares at him

“Why not?”

Yuuri takes another half step back.

“No - I’m all sweaty.”

“It’ll cool you down!”

Yuuri looks up at Viktor, haloed in the late sunshine. He looks so painfully earnest.

“Fine,” he says, at length. “I could do with a break.”

“I know just the place!”

Viktor beams, and Yuuri abruptly looks away again.

 

 _Just the place_ turns out to be the scene of their late night cocoa. Yuuri sinks gratefully into one of the wicker seats, tipping his face back to savour the cool breeze on his skin. He catches Viktor’s eyes on him and straightens guiltily, snatching up a menu to hide his face. If Viktor senses Yuuri’s discomfort, he graciously ignores it, chattering amicably while Yuuri tries vainly to collect himself. Viktor catches the attention of the pretty waitress, and Yuuri doesn’t protest when he orders for him, instead taking the opportunity to study him over his menu. He can’t help but wonder which Viktor he’s getting today.

 

For one, guilty moment, he recalls Viktor dancing with the stranger and can’t help but wonder if he took him home that night. If Viktor smiled for him, the way he’s smiling now. Yuuri quickly quashes that train of thought, a guilty feeling churning in his stomach when Viktor turns to him and smiles.

Viktor, at least, seems perfectly at ease, his button up shirt pushed up to the elbows, exposing his pale arms. He leans forwards, the shirt gaping enough to flash a glimpse of collar bone, and Yuuri breathes in sharply. The waitress settles a perspiring jug of lemonade between them, shooting Viktor a small, shy smile, before hastening away. As soon as they’re alone again, Viktor’s eyes latch onto him, dark with intent. He smiles, reaching to pour him a glass, and Yuuri gulps.

 

 _Uh oh_.

 

“I never did say, but it was very sweet of you to put me to bed the other night.”

Viktor watches him through his eyelashes, and Yuuri’s waning flush roars back to life.

“You weren’t exactly a great help,” he admits sullenly, and Viktor laughs.

“You must forgive me, Yuuri, I hardly ever allow myself to be so indulgent.”

Yuuri sincerely doubts that.

“Besides, Georgi assures me you were a perfect gentleman.”

Yuuri ducks away from that pale gaze that threatens to pick him apart. He stares into his glass, and sees sleepy eyed Viktor stare back.

 

_Did you kiss me tonight?_

 

“Well, what did you expect?” He mutters. “You were practically passed out. Besides,” he clears his throat. “We don’t - do that anymore.”

“Of course,” Viktor says, and his voice is so soft Yuuri can’t resist looking up. His eyes are dark and Yuuri - Yuuri _knows_ that look. “I’d nearly forgotten.”

Yuuri swallows thickly, his hand curling around his glass.

“Don’t do that,” he says before he can stop himself.

Viktor looks genuinely surprised, one pale brow twitching.

“Do what?”  
Yuuri looks away, chafing a hand over the back of his flushed neck.

“Don’t _look_ at me like that.”

“And how do I look at you?”

Yuuri shoots him a quelling look, eyes flashing.

“You know what I mean.”

Viktor looks taken aback, something soft lancing through his eyes. Yuuri sighs, staring stubbornly at the lattice of their table.

“What I’m trying to say is, you don’t have to flirt with me to make me like you.”

Viktor is silent for a long moment, but Yuuri doesn’t dare look. He teases his thumbnail along the wicker groove and waits for Viktor to speak.

 

“Then how do I make you like me, Yuuri?”

Yuuri scowls at the table.  
“I already like you.”

“You do?” Yuuri can practically hear the purr in his voice, mischief overtaking the uncertainty so swiftly Yuuri wonders if it was ever really there. “What do you like about me?”

Yuuri fixes him with a look, a withering retort on his tongue. It dies when he meets Viktor’s gaze, chin propped in his hand, eyes dancing with mischief - and curiosity too.

His glasses have slipped down his nose, and Yuuri shoves them into place, casting around for something to say.

 

_Why does he like Viktor?_

 

A technicolor image of Viktor’s panting face flashes into his mind, complete with full surround sound, and Yuuri dry swallows.

 

 _Besides that_.

 

Viktor’s smile is beginning to wane.

“You’re sweet,” Yuuri blurts. “When you want to be,” he adds hastily.

Viktor’s smile is salvaged.

“ _Yuuri_. You think I’m sweet?”

Yuuri ignores him, focusing on the people passing by.

“And you’re fun. I mean, you made someone like me loosen up, and that’s not easily done.”

He chances a glance at Viktor, whose eyes are glowing softly.

Yuuri swallows, and hastily looks away.

“There’s - uh - something about you that makes people want to get close to you - and stay there. I mean, I didn’t think someone like you would ever notice me. But you _did_ and now - the only thing stranger than that is trying to be friends with you.”

Viktor has lapsed into silence once more, and when Yuuri dares a peek, his eyes are unfathomable.

 

_Shit. Overdid it. Backtrack._

 

“I mean, but you think everyone wants to fall into bed with you,” he blurts, “and even if that’s true it’s hardly a redeeming quality.”

Yuuri takes a hasty swig of lemonade, just for something to do. By the time he’s drained the glass, Viktor is still watching him with that faraway look. Yuuri swipes a hand over the back of his mouth.

“Look, I have to go.”

Viktor finally stirs.

“You’re leaving already?” He stretches sleepily. “I’ll come with you.”

 

Yuuri’s mouth twists, holding back a refusal. He loiters while Viktor drops a handful of notes on the table, before swinging a leg over his bike. They set off down the road, Viktor wheeling along at his side, mercifully silent for once. The sun is setting quickly, and in its shadow Yuuri is beginning to feel the chill. He’s grateful when they pull up outside San Junipero, already beginning to stir in preparation for the night ahead. He’s painfully aware of Viktor at his side, and he’s itching to run again, to feel the adrenaline course through him, washing away this strange feeling, ignited by Viktor’s soft eyes. Viktor lingers, the closest to awkward Yuuri’s ever seen him. He looks up into the inky blue sky, his hair shining like starlight.

“I’m glad I met you, Yuuri,” he says, and Yuuri’s breath catches. “I like being friends.”

Yuuri stares at him, his delicate profile limned in harsh streetlight. Something is rising in his chest, clawing into his throat - something guilty, and longing. He swallows it down, and his voice is rough when he speaks.

“Yeah, I - me too.” He takes a nervous step backwards. “I’ll see you around, Viktor.”

 

Yuuri doesn’t wait for a response, turning on his heel and setting off towards home at a run. The street is quieter now, but Yuuri can still feel the telltale prickle of eyes watching him go.

He wonders if he’d lingered just a little longer, if Viktor would have asked him to stay.

He doesn’t look back.

* * *

 

When Yuuri finally sags through the door, Phichit is exactly where he left him. He spares him a glance over his page.

“Hey, Captain America. Good run, or did you just pass out somewhere for an hour?”

Yuuri forces a smile.

“Just stopped to cool off for a bit.”

Phichit grunts, seemingly appeased.

 

Yuuri doesn’t even bother peeling off his gear before he collapses onto bed, the sheets mercifully cool against his flushed skin. He ignores the guilty feeling turning over in his stomach, squeezing his eyes shut.

 

 _It would do no good telling Phichit_ , he assures himself.

He’d only tell him what he already knows: that he’s a blue-balled idiot who needs to make up his mind, and stop stringing himself along. If he’s set on continuing this farcical friendship - and truly, it seems like he just might be - the last thing he needs is a narrator with a filthy mind and a taste for drama.

He knows well enough on his own that he’s only sinking deeper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dude, sorry for all the wanking jokes. No conversation with me is complete without at least a couple.  
> I solemnly promise more jealous Yuuri to come! His suffering is not over, and so neither is yours ❤︎
> 
> This chapter may or may not have been influenced by my staying with the family for Christmas. Going to update tags soon but I promise that yuuri's insecurity regarding his body won't be graphic or upsetting. I want it to be positive ultimately!
> 
> As always, find me on [tumblr!](http://regulargumball.tumblr.com/) I've already met some really nice people who've messaged me about the fic, and I'd love to be friends with you all ❤︎


	8. Obsession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected house guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some fluffy snapshots before things get really exciting (be warned?)
> 
> i have been toiling over this for ages, and i may come back and tidy it up, but for now i just want you to haaave it

_Your face appears again_

_I see the beauty there_

_But I see danger_

_Stranger beware_

_A circumstance_

_In your naked dreams_

_Your affection is not what it seems_

 

Yuuri bites his lip to stifle a whimper, his cock slipping between soap-slick fingers. Hot water beats down his neck, snaking rivulets over his back like searching fingers. He fumbles one hand against the wall, propping himself up as he fucks his hand in earnest. The slap of skin on skin is mercifully drowned out by the rush of the shower, and Yuuri is grateful for it. His eyes flutter shut, lashes thick with water, and he lets himself remember.

Viktor, flushed with wanting, straining into his hand. His last night in Viktor’s bed, he had teased Yuuri to undress him, his eyes alight with mischief. It had been a glimpse of something Yuuri had frightened away all too quickly, consumed with the need to steal back whatever Viktor had taken that first night.

Now, he wishes he could have savoured it. Each encounter with Viktor was charged with such urgency. But Viktor had asked him to stay that night, and now, he can’t help wondering if he only had, what else might have happened.

Yuuri grits his teeth, sending those maudlin thoughts scattering with an artful flick of his wrist.

 _It wouldn’t have made a difference_ , he tells himself. _Viktor calls the shots, you know that. All you could have done was drawn this whole thing out longer._

 

Right now, thumb slipping over the weeping head of his cock, that doesn’t sound like such a bad thing.

Yuuri works his length faster, wringing a gasp from his lips. He imagines Viktor, sprawled on silk sheets, his smile teasing, arms reaching. The long, lithe lines of his body stretching, lean thighs flexing, the flat of his stomach pulled taut. All that strength submitting to him, _working_ for him, drawing out his pleasure . . . Viktor’s eyes bright with the knowledge of how badly he’s wanted.

Yuuri comes silently, his teeth cutting his bottom lip. The last image swims queasily in his mind, of Viktor, warm and wanted. Yuuri straightens stiffly, his back aching from hunching over so long, and guiltily wonders how long he’s been in the shower. He tugs back his hair, slicked wet across his brow, and ducks gratefully under the hot water, letting it ease his tense muscles. He doesn’t linger much longer, disappearing into his room before Phichit can comment.

 

He emerges sheepishly, skin still flushed from the heat of the shower, idly towelling dry his hair. Yuuri sinks onto the couch, and Phichit only grunts in response, too absorbed in his game to offer even a lewd comment. Yuuri watches the avatar crawl across the screen, and lets his mind wander.

This - _fascination_ \- is getting out of control. Too many moments stolen for guilty fantasies - he can’t keep it up much longer, not if Viktor is serious about pursuing their farcical friendship. _The friendship you offered_ , he reminds himself dutifully.

 

 _I like being friends_ , Viktor had said, the first time he’d seen him in the sunshine. The thought suffuses him with shame, feeling almost like a voyeur of his own memories. A different Yuuri, he thinks. The one Viktor had wanted in his bed.

Phichit’s phone rings, startling them both. He fumbles for it in his pocket, tucking it under his cheek and cursing under his breath when his one-handed shooting reels aimlessly over the screen.

“Hello? Oh, hi.” Phichit glances warily at him and Yuuri frowns. “Yeah, he’s here.”

He presses a hand over the phone, his controller falling forgotten to his lap.

“It’s Viktor,” he whispers.

Yuuri cringes guiltily, for one mad moment imagining Viktor could sense his thoughts. Panic quickly turns to annoyance.

“You gave him your number?” He demands, scandalised.

Phichit shrugs, pressing the phone towards him.

“He wants to speak to you.”

Yuuri stares at him, a silent battle of wills commencing as Phichit tries to shove the phone into his hand. Finally, a tinny voice emerges from the phone.

“ _Hello? Yuuri?_ ”

Yuuri scowls, snatching the phone.

“Viktor,” he answers brusquely. “What’s wrong?”

Viktor sounds confused.

“Why would something be wrong?”

“I don’t know.” Yuuri glares into the side of Phichit’s head, obviously eavesdropping. “You’ve never called before. I didn’t even know you had a phone.”

 

 _That would be fitting_ , he thinks. No way to reach him when you need him, only ever turning up when he’s least expected.

 

Viktor is laughing.

“So funny,” he’s saying. “You must think I am an alien.”

Yuuri cuts him off before he can continue.

“Look - whatever it is, I can’t okay? I’m busy.”

Viktor isn’t laughing anymore.

“Yuuri, please, don’t go yet. You were right. I have an emergency.”

This gives Yuuri pause.

“A real emergency?” He asks, skeptically.

“Of course.” He doesn’t even have the good grace to sound offended. “I need a place to stay tonight.”

Yuuri swallows, and finds that his heart has taken residence in his throat.

“Viktor, if this is some kind of -”

“I’m being perfectly serious.” There’s a pause, and when he speaks again he sounds tired. “There’s someone in town that I would like to avoid. He is not making it easy.”

“Oh.” That was not what he had been expecting.

 

_Does Viktor have a stalker?_

 

He shoots Phichit a look, and sees he’s abandoned all pretence of ignoring them.

 _What_ , he mouths, but Yuuri shakes his head.

“And you can’t just, I don’t know,” he fights to keep his voice even, “go home with someone from San Junipero?”

“I can’t go to San Junipero tonight, Yuuri.” He sounds almost pleading. “That’s the first place he’ll look.”

Yuuri frowns, his mind spinning.

“What about Georgi?”

Viktor scoffs.

“Georgi lives in a studio apartment, Yuuri. With a roommate!” A gusty sigh crackles down the line, and Viktor’s voice sounds small when he speaks again. “If it will make you uncomfortable -”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” Yuuri insists. “Why would I be - never mind. Just, fine, okay? You can stay. For one night.”

“Oh, thank you, Yuuri. I knew you would come through for me.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes.

“It’s not a big deal,” he insists weakly. “Phichit will text you our address, okay? Just let us know when you’re coming.”

Viktor gushes his thanks, and Yuuri hesitates on the verge of hanging up.

“Viktor,” he says carefully. “Are you in some sort of trouble?”

Viktor laughs delicately.

“Trouble? Of course not, Yuuri. Why?” He asks teasingly. “Are you worried about me, malysh?”

Yuuri clenches his teeth, his worry wadded up and forgotten.

“Don’t be stupid _._ See you later, Viktor.”

He hangs up before he can change his mind.

  
“What was all that about?”

“Viktor’s staying with us tonight.” He grimaces, as though saying the words out loud have made them real. “Do you mind?” He asks belatedly.

Phichit snorts.

“Did you give me a chance to?”

Yuuri cringes.  
“Sorry. I tried to pawn him off on Georgi but he kind of had me at his mercy.”

Phichit shrugs.

“I would have thought he’d have his pick of people to take him home for a night.”

“That’s what I said,” he offers hopelessly.

 

His eyes trip over the apartment, mentally cataloguing the discarded Chinese takeout cartons and laundry in varying stages of completion.

“Oh God,” he groans, his head falling into his hands. “Viktor’s coming _here_.”

His curiosity satisfied, Phichit has turned back to his game.

“What are you so upset about? I thought you guys were friends now.”

Yuuri peers from between his fingers.

“Right now, I think keeping him at arm’s length would be best,” he says weakly. “Besides, he can’t see _this_. You should see his place, Phichit, it’s like living in IKEA.”

“Full of tiny pencils?” Yuuri makes a strangled noise. “ _Relax_ , Yuuri. You’re ruining the carefully cultivated atmosphere of our bachelor pad. Which, for the first time, just might see some action.”  
Yuuri raises his head to glare.

“I’m _not_ sleeping with him.”

Phichit’s mouth twitches with a smirk.  
“Who said anything about you?”

* * *

 

Viktor is barely through the door before Phichit is upon him.

“I hear you have a stalker.”

Yuuri cringes, darting forwards to shove him aside. Viktor shoots him a quizzical look.

“I do?”

His gaze slides assessingly to Yuuri, who flushes hotly in outrage.

“Not me!” He blurts. “Phichit overheard our conversation and I guess he just assumed...” He breaks off, not knowing exactly how to account for Phichit’s own brand of logic.

Viktor raises a brow, still hovering on the threshold.

“I only wish my life were so exciting. Now, may I come in, or do I need a stalker to pass through?”

“Of course,” Yuuri mutters, flushing to his ears as he stumbles out of the way.

Viktor follows, languorously taking in his surroundings. For a moment, Yuuri wonders what will happen if Viktor finds it wanting. But he _had_ said he was desperate - most likely on the lookout for a furious former lover. Yuuri doesn’t stop to wonder if he deserves what’s coming to him.

 

“Charming,” is all Viktor says, and Yuuri is endlessly grateful he had time to hide all evidence of their slum student ways.

The line of Viktor’s mouth is tense, twitching unconvincingly into a smile. Yuuri watches him from the corner of his eye, and bites back the nagging urge to demand the whole sordid story. Viktor doesn’t notice, slipping out of his coat and slinging it carelessly over the back of their couch.

 

“I’m so tense,” Viktor is grumbling, rolling his long neck across his chest. “Would you be terribly put out if I had a shower? The hot water would do me a world of good.”

Yuuri is so caught up watching the stretch of skin, imagining digging his fingers into taut muscle, that he almost misses the question.

“Uhh -”

If Viktor notices the guilt scrawled across Yuuri’s face, he certainly doesn’t understand it. Yuuri’s eyes dart hopelessly to Phichit; he represses a smirk.

“Of course, why in the world would that be a problem?” Yuuri’s jaw tightens at the singsong suggestion in Phichit’s voice. “You’re our guest, after all.”

“Thank you,” Viktor sighs, rolling back his shoulders. “I do hope I’m not stepping on anyone’s toes.” He raises his head, and smiles lazily. “I’ll try to keep out of your hair.”

Yuuri blinks, tearing his gaze away from the long fingered hand easing over Viktor’s neck.

“You’re not in my hair,” he says dumbly, ignoring Phichit’s snort. “I’ll - uh - show you how the shower works.”

 

Yuuri darts into the bathroom, Viktor following at his heels. The door creaks shut behind them, and Yuuri is suddenly, intimately aware of himself in the cramped little room. He avoids Viktor’s eye, focusing instead on his second shirt button.

“It’s a bit tricky,” he says, belatedly wishing he’d just let Viktor get on with it. “Uh, here.”

He turns abruptly and noisily yanks back the shower curtain, ripping the tension at the seams. He’s overwhelmingly aware of Viktor’s presence behind him as he squats down, fumbling with the stiff taps until hot water beats down on his hands. Yuuri stares down into the drain, his face burning as the last of this morning’s fantasy swirls in his mind. He straightens reluctantly, and turns back to confront Viktor’s second shirt button. Mercifully, he’s still dressed.

“Help yourself to anything you need, there’s - uh - fresh towels in the cupboard.”

Viktor is silent for a long moment, and there’s nothing but the rush of shower water, drowning all logical thought.

 

Yuuri needs to get out. He chances a look up, and finds Viktor watching him with an unreadable expression, face half hidden behind a fall of hair.

“Thank you,” and there, the barest hint of a smile. “You are a good host. Better than me, I think.”

Yuuri thinks of waking alone in cold sheets, and hastily turns before his face can give him away.

“It’s nothing,” he blurts. “I’ll let you get on with it.”

Their shoulders brush as he slips past, pulling the door deliberately closed behind him. For a moment, he wishes he could lock it from the outside.

 

“That was generous of you,” Phichit drawls. “Did you help him undress as well?”

“Shut up.”

Yuuri runs a hand through his hair, and tries not to imagine Viktor on the other side.

“You gonna stand there til he’s finished? Coming on a little strong, don’t you think?”

Yuuri starts guiltily from the door, shooting Phichit a glare.

“Oh God.” He slumps onto the sofa, his voice muffled against the cushions. “This was a bad idea.”

“Why?” Phichit sounds uninterested. “Cause you can’t keep it in your pants? Get it together, Yuuri, he’s been on his best behaviour.”

“Exactly,” Yuuri groans. “Something’s wrong and I - ugh.” He peers between his dark hair, righting his glasses on his nose. “You think he’ll want to talk about it?”

“Apparently not.” Phichit turns, shooting the bathroom door a speculative glance. “What’s the deal with that anyway?” he continues in a conspiratorial whisper. “You made out like he had a stalker or something.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes, flopping onto his back.

“That’s how he made it sound. But I guess it wouldn’t be the first time he’s been melodramatic. Besides, if someone had a secret you’re the last person they’d tell.”

Phichit adopts an expression of mock injury.

“Rude. I give great advice.”

Yuuri’s mouth twitches.  
“Right, what was the first thing you said again? ‘I hear you have a stalker?’” Phichit’s mouth falls open to protest and Yuuri fails to stifle a laugh. “I take it back, P, that’s _real_ supportive.”

“I’m down to Earth!”

Yuuri rolls his eyes.

“You’re trying to be Oprah. Don’t do that, you’re not Oprah.”

Phichit slumps back over his controller, defeated.

“I am too Oprah.”

* * *

 

Viktor has brightened considerably when he finally emerges, clouded with fragrant steam.

“Your shampoo is very cheap,” he announces folding himself onto the sofa, “but now I smell like you!”

“I smell cheap?” Yuuri grumbles, eyes stealing away from pale, elegant toes.

Viktor smiles charmingly, stroking a hand through his still wet hair til it’s artfully swept across his crown.

“No,” he says, cocking his head with infuriating smugness. “You smell good.”

Phichit clears his throat from the ground, startling them apart.

“He smells like old laundry and leftovers.”

Yuuri scowls, favouring him with an indiscreet kick. Viktor only laughs, as though charmed.

“Oh, you college boys. You live like piggies.”

Yuuri scowls, picking at a hangnail. Beside him, Viktor shivers delicately.

“It’s so cold in here. How do you stand it?”

“We don’t feel things anymore,” Phichit quips dryly, without turning around.

Viktor turns to Yuuri, looking puzzled. He shakes his head wearily.

“Ignore him. If you’re really cold I can,” his mouth twists, already regretting the words, “I mean I can get you a sweatshirt or something. We’re kind of in a central heating embargo,” he adds ruefully.

“Would you mind?” Viktor blinks up at him sweetly, and Yuuri resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“It’s just a jumper,” he says brusquely, levering himself over the back of the sofa.

 

He falls short just inside his room, nudging the door closed behind him. He feels oddly breathless, his heart thumping inside his shirt. And all this because Viktor sat beside him, and dared to bat his eyes. Silently cursing himself, he yanks open his wardrobe, tugging with more force than strictly necessary when the mechanism sticks. He doesn’t have much, but his eyes fall short on an old college sweatshirt, the lettering paled from the wash. He takes it gingerly, and sniffs it. It’s soft with wear, and smells faintly like laundry detergent. He’s certain Viktor owns nothing like it, and fights a nervous laugh at the thought of him turning up his nose.

 

“Here.”

Yuuri tosses the sweatshirt, and Viktor catches it against his chest, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Oh. Thank you.” He holds it up assessingly, his mouth ticking when he reads the faded print. Seemingly without thinking, he ducks his head and holds it to his nose.

“It’s clean,” Yuuri objects, flushing dully.

“A miracle,” Phichit mutters.

Viktor doesn’t answer, pulling it over his damp hair and tugging his arms through the sleeves. It’s too short, exposing slender wrists, and swims roomily around his middle, but Viktor looks up with a self-satisfied smile. He looks . . . cosy. The sight is enough to make Yuuri’s mouth dry.

“Better?”  
“Much.”

* * *

 

Six o’clock finds a hushed conference in the kitchen.

“This is a disaster!”

Yuuri risks a glance over his shoulder, to Viktor lolled on his couch, obliviously channel hopping.

“This is not a disaster,” Phichit hisses back. “We’re going to feed him, let him crash and then he’ll be gone in the morning.”

Yuuri shakes his head, stifling a groan.

“I never should have agreed to this. I need to tell him he can’t stay.”

“And what? Put him out on the street?”

“No! I’m going to send him back to his own very nice apartment and tell him to stop acting like a crazy person!”

“ _You’re_ the one acting like a crazy person. Don’t argue with me! You told him you were his friend but instead you’re acting like a horndog.”

“ _I'm_ a horndog?!”

“You heard me. You want to jump his bones so bad you’d sooner cast him out on the street than let him crash on our couch.”

“Oh, please, like he even needs a place to stay. Knowing Viktor this is probably some idiot ploy to get under my skin.”

Phichit recoils a little, looking startled. Yuuri squirms, but says nothing.

 

“Pardon my interruption boys,” Viktor calls, “but is everything quite alright?”

Yuuri and Phichit turn as one, sharing a forced smile.

“Of course,” Phichit beams, an old pro.

“We were just,” Yuuri runs a hand through his hair, grappling for something to say, “making dinner plans,” he finishes lamely.

Viktor’s eyes are cool, quietly assessing. Yuuri fights not to remain passive under his gaze.

“Of course,” he says finally, sinking back into his seat. “Then I’ll let you get back to your . . . heated debate.”

 

Phichit’s head snaps around to regard him, his smile evaporating.

“What is going on with you?” He hisses. “You are acting - _un-adorable_.”

“I don’t owe him anything,” Yuuri retorts, dark eyes flashing. “I don’t have to be grateful just because he hangs around.”

Phichit softens a little.

“I’m not saying that. I just think that whatever’s going on with Viktor,” he sighs, “maybe it’s not working for you. So if you can’t handle being friends with him -”

Yuuri blinks, taken aback. A small, traitorous part of him admits he hadn’t realised that was an option.

“I can handle it,” he snaps, and Phichit raises a brow.

“Fine. He can stay,” he says grudgingly, and Phichit’s eyes light with triumph. “But you’re not Oprah,” he adds firmly.

Phichit rolls his eyes, looking unconvinced, and turns back to Viktor.

“You hungry, Viktor? We were going to order Chinese.”

Viktor tips back his head to regard them.

“Sounds delicious.” He stretches indulgently, sleeves falling down his slender forearms. “I think I owe you a meal in exchange for your hospitality.”

“And your virginity,” Phichit murmurs, low enough for only Yuuri to hear.

Yuuri elbows him in the gut, mustering a strained smile.

“That sounds great. Just pick anything out okay, we’re not picky.”

Viktor’s eyes glow with secretive humour.

“And after you argued so long, too.”

* * *

 

Viktor jabs a chopstick at the television.

“What’s this?”

“Uh,” Phichit frowns, struggling to recall. “ _Squid Monster of the Deep._ ”

“Oh, I see.”

Viktor’s toes have somehow squirmed their way under Yuuri’s thigh, cruelly leeching his warmth. Stranger still, he can’t find it in him to complain.

On screen, a barnacled tentacle slings from the water, lassoing a helpless, buxom blonde.

“Who’s that?”

Yuuri glances up, just in time to see the woman thrash across the screen, her tan legs devoured by roiling ocean. He shrugs.

“Just some girl.”

“And what’s she doing?”  
“Getting eaten - Viktor, have you never watched a movie before?”

“Never something so enthusiastically surrealist.”

He chews thoughtfully, brows contracting when the woman is finally submerged in the creature’s gaping maw.

“My goodness,” he says mildly. “What a pity.”

* * *

 

“Not so horrible, huh?” Phichit whispers, when they’re jostling elbows in the kitchen.

“I guess,” Yuuri says grudgingly.

“I thought he’d bring a little bell to ring,” Phichit snickers. “Maybe dress you up in a little maid costume.”

The kettle climbs to a boil, drowning out their conversation, but Yuuri still glances furtively over his shoulder.

“I’m going to stop you right there. You’ll give him ideas.”

Phichit rolls his eyes, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

“My lips are sealed.” He lowers his voice to a showy whisper: “He seems to have cheered up.”  
Yuuri makes a face.

“I don’t know,” he says warily. I don’t buy it. I mean, this is Viktor we’re talking about. He never lets you see anything he doesn’t want you to see.”

 

“What are you talking about so secretly?”

Viktor sounds innocent enough, but Yuuri startles guiltily all the same.

Phichit throws a grin over his shoulder.

“We were talking about you,” he says easily. “While Yuuri’s making you tea, I think I’ll try and scare up some spare blankets.”

Yuuri’s eyes widen, betrayed, but Phichit swans away, with nothing more than a smug look thrown over his shoulder.

Viktor’s eyes are glittering.

“You were gossiping about me?”

Yuuri scowls.

“Not exactly. I was just saying we should start a bed and breakfast for beautiful men on the run from dubious life choices.”

His tone is flippant, but Viktor’s eyes warm, his head tilted coquettishly.

“You think I’m beautiful?” He sounds almost shy.

Yuuri’s mouth opens to protest.

 

_Of course, that’s what he’d pick up on._

 

He toys with outright denial, but then his shoulders slump, defeated.

“Knock it off, Viktor, you know you are.”

Viktor is watching him with a small, secretive smile.

“Maybe, but I like when I hear it from you.”

Yuuri gulps, feeling a pull to the unabashed softness in his eyes. Hastily, he turns away, snatching up the kettle to busy his trembling hands.

“I think I’m too nice to you,” he says, voice cracking ever so slightly.

Behind him, Viktor makes a petulant noise, and Yuuri relaxes ever so slightly.

* * *

 

Eleven finds them lit by the light of the television, lapsed into silence. Yuuri’s head is heavy in his palm, eyelids drooping. For the first time in weeks, he’s spent his Saturday where he belongs, curled up on the sofa. He blinks awake, and shoots Viktor a surreptitious look, dozing off against the sofa cushions. His elegant nose juts out of his borrowed blanket, sombre features flickering in and out of the shadows.

Yuuri tears his eyes away before’s caught, and forces himself to his feet.

“I’m going to bed,” he announces, stretching stiffly.

Viktor’s eyes follow him, and Yuuri automatically yanks down his t-shirt, in case a telltale slither of skin is exposed to his prying eyes.

“Boo,” Phichit says, without turning round.

“We should, uh, probably let Viktor sleep, right, P?”

“Huh? Oh.” Phichit scrambles to his feet, shooting _It Came From Outer Space_ a longing look. “I guess.”

“Don’t rush off on my account,” Viktor says, frowning faintly.

“I’m not,” Yuuri insists, a little too sharply. “I just need to sleep.” He rubs a hand over his tired eyes, dislodging his glasses. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

He hopes he won’t.

 

He doesn’t wait for an answer, sloping off to his bedroom before either can object. The door shuts behind him with a sense of finality, and Yuuri sags against it, savouring the privacy. Viktor’s company is electrifying, every look, every grazing touch charged with some secret meaning.

He undresses clumsily, tuning out the muffled voices from the den, and falls gratefully into bed.

Alone in his room, his breath catches when the television clicks off, and Phichit’s footsteps retreat to his room. Alone, he thinks, but not really. Viktor is just the other side of that door, curled on his couch. He can’t help but feel like they’ve crossed a line somehow.

 

It’s hours before sleep finally finds him. Yuuri lies awake, alert for any creak in the floorboards, or squeak of the couch springs that’ll give away Viktor sneaking to his room. It would be all too easy, he knows, for Viktor to knock on the door, wheedling for a glass of water, or another blanket. He waits, breath quickening with every faint sound.

 

The knock never comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #angstwank
> 
> Find me on [tumblr.](http://regulargumball.tumblr.com/)
> 
> please give me attention its been a long lifetime


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